The Daughters of Krull
by Mayumi-H
Summary: What does it mean to be a woman in the patriarchal world of Krull? And what is a woman's connection to Krull's extinct race of dragons? Unedited but complete.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: Krull and all associated characters, places, names, and likenesses are copyright 1983, 2006 Columbia Pictures Corporation. This is a work of unlicensed fan fiction and is not supported in any way by Columbia Pictures Corporation or any of its associated entities. **

**Original characters, places, story and text are copyright 2006 the author. This story may not be reproduced in any way without express permission of the author. **

**This story is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real events or persons – living or dead – is purely coincidental.**

* * *

**I**

_Once, long ago, the world of Krull was filled with dragons. _

_These were not the simple marsh lizards of the deep swamps; these dragons were nearly human. They were strong, intelligent, beautiful, and cunning. They ruled the cloudless skies of the Overland; the churning blue seas of the Great Expanse; the fierce, fiery depths of the volcanoes of Bel'Halur; the snow-capped mountaintops of the Cyrnwyn Heights; these and all in-between. _

_But rules end. _

_The dragons could be noble, but they could also be weak and petty. They waged war against the other races, spreading ruin across all the lands of Krull with their fury. _

_Until they were challenged by a boy._

* * *

The boy woke from a shiver. Very slowly, he opened his eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of his dream with his long lashes. 

His name was Titch, and of late, he often dreamt of dragons.

His Master had told him once that his dreams were keys to another plane, another way of thought. Titch hadn't really known then what his Master had meant by that, and he wasn't sure he had any better inkling of the idea now. At any rate, his Master was gone now.

Titch shivered again.

He thought briefly about snuggling beneath his blankets again, but the sudden urge to relieve himself took precedence. So he got up out of the bed, being careful not to make noise even though there was no one else in the room to hear him. He left his feet bare - he liked to feel the cold stone beneath his toes, even on a morning as chilled as this one - and padded over to the pot in the far corner.

While his body busied itself with this morning ritual, his mind took the opportunity to wander. He thought about the circumstances that had brought him to this place, this great white castle in the South.

Little more than a year ago, he had been a simple orphan, an apprentice to the blind Emerald Seer, who was the last of his kind. Then the young King of Turold had come, asking the Seer's help, and Titch had followed the King - Colwyn by name - because he could think of no other life than with his Master. Then his Master had died (murdered, really, but Titch didn't like thinking about that, especially when he was alone), and he had followed Colwyn, because he could think of no other life than following someone else. Now, he was not so certain.

Oh, he liked Colwyn. In the deeper parts of his heart - the ones that he had never known how to examine overmuch but that his Master had said were the most important ones of all - he knew that he loved Colwyn. Colwyn had accepted him then as an aide and a companion, and that had never changed; more than that, though, Colwyn had welcomed him into his family. Titch could not remember the last time that he had felt part of a family. His Master, nurturing as he was, was more like what he imagined a kindly old uncle to be. Colwyn was like a father. And while he was enormously grateful to Colwyn, Titch often wondered (especially lately) if perhaps his own path did not lie somewhere other than the White Castle of Erig-ken.

Titch tightened his britches around his waist, stooped to pick up the large pot, and opened the heavy door to the hall. The sewer feed was at the end of the hallway, so it was not much of a chore to dispose of his own waste. His Master had been fond of telling him that the cycle of feed and use was common to every creature. Titch had never been quite sure what his Master had been trying to teach him there, but Torquil, the King's Lord-Marshall, had told him that "a man who cleans his own shit stays humble," and Titch had understood that sentiment well enough.

He dumped the pot into the waste sluice and started back to his rooms, when he bumped into a young woman about half again as old as he was.

She gasped and giggled, and Titch recognized her as Pfara, one of the maids from the castle's kitchens.

"I'm sorry," she said, and Titch smiled at her. She was pretty; not overly so (certainly nothing like beautiful Queen Lyssa, who could make the clouds part with her radiant smile), but enough to get his attention. She had been in the middle of a struggle getting her hair into a bun and she hadn't noticed him coming her way.

Titch was wondering how she couldn't have noticed him (he wasn't that short; he had grown nearly five fingers' worth in the time he had lived in the castle) when a voice called from behind her:

"Pfara..."

She turned, and her shoulders relaxed as she walked back down the hall. Titch didn't follow her, but he looked around her rustling skirts to see Oswyn leaning against an open doorframe. The young outrider was dressed only in a pair of low-slung britches and naked otherwise. He was dangling a knotted kerchief of some sort from one finger and beckoning to the girl.

Titch watched the young lovers talk and tease for a moment, and then he dropped his eyes to the floor and walked back to his room. Just as he made it to his door, Pfara walked past him again, offering him a parting if cursory salutation.

Titch looked up and followed her with his eyes. He gave a little wave at her back as she rounded the corner of the hall. When he turned back around, Oswyn was looking at him.

"You were staring," the older youth said with a grin.

Titch shook his head. "I was not," he said emphatically. He stuck out his chin. "But I am curious if Pfara knows that she isn't the only one to leave things in your room."

Oswyn chuckled at the younger boy, preferring to ignore the jibe at his brazen infidelity. "Go ahead. Hide your jealousy." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I can wait."

Titch squinted at him. Ordinarily, he and Oswyn stayed out of each other's way, but on occasion interaction was unavoidable.

On the whole, Titch preferred the castle's keeps with their tomes and scrolls. He had a great propensity for reading, and his keen mind devoured new texts of all kinds. He had even found a secret studying companion in a most unlikely peer; Queen Lyssa herself was an interested student in arcane lore. She had said once that she found the lyrics of history as important as the events themselves, but Titch fancied that she simply shared the same interests as he did.

Oswyn, on the other hand, could only barely stand being confined in the castle. After the first week of habitation, he had begged both the King and the Lord-Marshall for some duty - any duty - that would allow him to come and go as he pleased, at least within reason. Torquil had eventually given in to the youth's badgering and given him the charge of a royal Outrider, responsible for guarding the kingdom's boundaries, a task at which Oswyn actually excelled. The job called for long stretches of riding from one boundary point to the next, with little companionship except for a steed.

For himself, Titch had not been surprised that the older youth was so good at that particular assignment. Oswyn's level of mental sophistication seemed to be about that of a horse. Although, it did make his skill with the fairer sex all the more puzzling.

He was about to say as much when who else but Torquil himself came from around the corner, making an impressive amount of commotion for a single man.

"Get dressed," Torquil ordered, looking at Oswyn. "We are expected in the High Council Chamber."

"When?" The addressed youth asked, as he straightened into a posture more fitting for the Lord-Marshall's presence.

"Now," Torquil replied curtly. He shot a glance at Titch, as well. "You, too."

Titch, struck suddenly dumb, blinked. "Why?"

Torquil jerked his head at Oswyn. "Because you're smarter than he is." He stopped, glanced between the two of them, then barked, "Well? Get to it!" As Oswyn ducked inside his door, Torquil added, "And bring your swords."

Titch was standing in his own doorway, still holding his pot. He had never been summoned like this before, and definitely not with Oswyn at the same time. All of a sudden, he felt very small and frightened. "I-I have no swords," he stammered in a tiny voice.

Torquil turned to face him fully. He took a deep breath, and his muscles seemed to relax. He rested a calloused hand on the boy's shoulder. "Just bring what you'll need for a journey. And be quick."

Titch nodded dutifully. He didn't have much in the way of personal belongings, but there were a few choice items that, without which, he knew he couldn't leave the castle. He turned in to his rooms without saying another word, trusting that he would see Torquil again soon enough.

Upon entering his main room, he set down the pot and walked over to his bed and sat down upon its rumpled surface. He knew that he should hurry (already, he heard Oswyn in his boots clattering down the hall in a rush), but he needed a moment. What journey could demand his skills? What skills, exactly, did he have that weren't covered by someone more experienced? Or, at least, someone bigger?

In a kind of anxious, urgent daze, he started collecting his things. He put on his clothes - a set of grey-green jerkin and pants, and a pair of walking boots that were still a little big on him - and unconsciously set about fixing his bed, when he remembered that he probably shouldn't be wasting his time with such mundane chores. Still, it calmed his nerves to engage in something so familiar in the face of the unpredictable.

He picked up a few choice books from beside the bed (one was his Master's old bestiary, the other was a book of maps with the binding coming apart in several places), stuffed them into his satchel, and was about to leave when he spotted his Master's staff in the corner. He contemplated leaving it (it was the only remnant of his Master that he still had, and he suffered under the thought that he might lose it), then reconsidered.

When he had joined Colwyn on his quest, he had done it as much for his belief in the ways of the Seers as for his Master. The staff was a symbol of that ancient order, still respected and revered by some if mostly-forgotten in most circles. He grabbed it and held it against his side, secretly amazed at how much smaller it seemed now. At one time, the top of his head had barely reached the middle band of the staff; now, he could almost see above the top of the thing without rising on his toes.

He got to the door, and glanced back into the room. Just four plain walls, with a simple bed and a slightly cluttered floor. He shouldn't miss it. But he knew that he probably would.

Titch arrived in the High Council Chamber only a few moments behind Torquil and Oswyn, but it looked as though everyone there had been waiting for him for quite some time. While having the Seer staff with him had given him some confidence, he found that he lost most of it upon entering the high-domed chamber.

Both King Colwyn and Queen Lyssa were in attendance, a rarity these days given the Queen's delicate nature; she was almost seven months pregnant, her audience gowns having been let out to accommodate her growing belly. Even so (or perhaps because of this), her radiance was unsurpassed. She smiled in greeting to Titch, bowing her red-tressed head ever-so-slightly.

Sitting beside his lovely Queen, Colwyn nodded to him, as well. He extended one arm to a seat at the round Council table, and Titch found that he had to actively will his feet to move toward the table. He had not been invited to the table before, and he wasn't sure what to do.

"You can sit down," Colwyn said in a quiet voice. He smiled in assurance, that gentle, compassionate smile that Titch had come to love so dearly.

With a shallow bow that Titch hoped would be suitably formal given the circumstances, he took one of the empty seats that faced the Queen.

To the King's left sat Ergo, who was one of Colwyn's closest advisers. Though a simple hedge wizard he may have been at one time, Ergo had proven himself as one of the royal family's most valued advocates. He had acted as an emissary to his native Hill People and persuaded them to become the King's allies, and together the two nations controlled passage through the Eastern Tribelands to the Masa'a River.

Ergo grinned widely at the boy. It had been too long since they had spoken. At one time, Titch had considered becoming an apprentice to Ergo and perhaps training in the transmutative magic of the Hill People, but Ergo's duties had taken him away for long stretches of time and in the meanwhile Titch had discovered the allure of the tomes in the Southern Keep.

Titch nodded back at Ergo and offered a cautious smile. Then he turned to the last seated attendee.

Torquil sat beside the Queen, on the side opposite Colwyn, in the semi-ornate chair designated for the Lord-Marshall, the kingdom's highest-ranking official after the King and Queen. His axe was laid before him on the table, holding down one end of a large, detailed map. He offered Titch a cursory nod. Behind him, Oswyn stood with his arms folded, looking distinctly more imposing in his coal-colored battle livery than he had a few moments ago in the upstairs hall. The youth only blinked, then looked back at the King.

Titch followed his gaze and looked at Colwyn, too.

The King half-stood from his seat. He laid his palm on the map, his fingers stretched across the representation of the Andmortis Sea. Still looking at the map's calligraphic writing, he said, "Emissaries from the city of Bellan say that they have found some sort of...artifact." He paused, and Titch wondered if perhaps the young King was recalling another of the ancient Relics scattered across Krull.

Colwyn continued: "The Bellan emissaries didn't seem to know much about it, but they believe that it is magical in nature."

At the mention of magic, Ergo leaned forward over the map and Torquil snorted audibly. Titch looked from one to the other, then back at Colwyn.

"Is it?" Titch ventured in the long silence that followed. "Magic, I mean."

Colwyn exchanged anxious glances with both his adviser and Lord-Marshall before turning back to the boy. He lowered his head and looked up from beneath his furrowed brow. "That is what we need to determine."

Titch nodded in agreement. He waited for someone to say something more, but everyone simply continued to stare at him. Finally, it dawned on him. "You want me to investigate this artifact?"

Colwyn offered a comforting smile. "You won't be alone. Torquil will be going, to act as my voice. And Oswyn's swords will protect you." Both former thieves nodded, Torquil solemnly and Oswyn a bit more haltingly.

"Why not send Ergo?" Titch asked. As soon as he said it, he immediately regretted how cowardly that may have sounded to those in the room. So he explained: "Ergo's much better at magic than I am."

Torquil snorted again, no doubt recalling some of Ergo's earlier botched attempts at transmutation.

Colwyn ignored the little outburst; he usually found Torquil's playful antagonism of the magician to be mildly amusing, but there was no time for it, now. He shook his head. "Should our emissaries from the Hill People or Valdraenei arrive regarding the artifact, they may not be likely to trust us without Ergo here. Sadly, he's been our only contact with them. If it is indeed true that the artifact is one of the ancient Relics, both of those tribes are bound to be interested in finding it. We need to keep our tenuous treaties intact if we are to rebuild this as a single, unified kingdom."

The political argument was lost on Titch; he had lost both count of and interest in all of the visiting emissaries, tithe bearers, and nobles over the last several months since news of Colwyn's marriage to Lyssa and the merger of the Turold and Erig kingdoms had spread across Krull. There was always some stranger or other extolling the virtues of having a unified kingdom under one monarch.

But he knew that Colwyn was right about the significance of the Relics. The magic in just one Relic would be enough to tilt the balance of power in any one fiefdom's favor. If war broke out among the lesser territories, Colwyn and Lyssa's joint kingdom could be shattered.

Colwyn lowered his voice. "You know that I would not ask of you," and here he paused and looked meaningfully at each of them, "any task that I myself am not willing to perform. But with Lyssa in her condition-"

"Do not use me as an excuse, Colwyn." Lyssa said firmly. She laid a pale hand over her husband's, and she looked at Titch. "A kingdom cannot function without its King, especially an infant one. I believe you understand."

Titch nodded, neither able nor willing to question the simple logic in the Queen's soft-spoken words. "Yes. Yes, I do understand."

Lyssa smiled in approval, and Colwyn nodded at him. "Thank you," the young King said, with genuine gratitude.

Torquil put both hands on the table and prepared to stand. "Are we settled, then?" He glanced around at the others for confirmation.

Colwyn nodded again. "If you are prepared, we will meet you and Oswyn at the East Gate. I would like a moment with Titch."

Torquil stood, and both he and Oswyn bowed quickly before exiting the chamber.

Ergo stood, as well, and approached Titch. "It is good to see you again, lad. You've grown!" He made a generous show of looking the boy up and down. He put a comradely arm around Titch's shoulders. "I have already spoken with Colwyn, and he has agreed to let me accompany you as far as the Eastern border. We can catch up while we ride." He glanced up and saw that Colwyn was waiting, and he stepped away. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must gather my own trappings." He bade them farewell with a silent wave and left the chamber behind the two former thieves.

Both Colwyn and Lyssa approached Titch with easy, confident strides. The King laid a hand on the boy's back and led him toward the hall, but slowly, so that they could talk in confidence.

"I see that you are anxious," Colwyn murmured. "You needn't be. This is a serious mission we entrust to you, but I don't think that you should be in much peril outside of the lack of scintillating conversation."

Titch forced a smile to his lips. "I hope that I can live up to your trust in me."

Colwyn smiled at him. "I am certain you will. This quest requires someone with your specific knowledge, Titch. Torquil is a great warrior, and Oswyn is as fine a rider as I have ever known, but only you have enough knowledge of magic to be able to identify the artifact as a Relic."

Though he didn't want to contradict him, Titch had to disagree. He didn't want his King and Queen under the mistaken impression that he had any sort of special talents. "I have no exceptional knowledge, Colwyn. I want to fulfill my duties to you to the very best of my ability, but I'm not certain how much help I'll be."

Colwyn spared a brief glance at Lyssa, who nodded at him, and then leaned down to Titch. "If what they say is true, you will recognize the artifact. The Bellan seem to believe that it is a channeling orb."

Titch could hardly believe what he was hearing. "A -!" He found that he couldn't even articulate his own excitement.

Colwyn nodded. "Yes. A Seer's ruby."

* * *

The sun shone brightly, casting a warm glow over the courtyard despite the morning dampness. It bode well for the little questing party. 

Ibren, the stable master, was speaking with Torquil in low tones near the wall. Ibren's daughter, a slight if sturdy girl named Zalinde, was guiding two horses to the arching gates: one a dappled gelding and the other a grey mare. Both horses were saddled and shod, and both of them wore the Turold-Erig-ken royal crest of the Glaive in their harnesses.

Titch crossed to Zalinde and murmured a hello; he didn't know the girl except as another face that he had seen occasionally around the castle. He reached up to pat the gelding along his flank, a bit mesmerized by the animal. He had ridden horses before, but never on his own. This beast, while seemingly gentle, was nonetheless huge.

"That's Arno," Zalinde told him, and Titch realized with a little embarrassment that she was addressing him. She must have taken his silence as apprehension, because she added, "Don't worry; he's a little lamb."

"He's very handsome," Titch said agreeably. He moved one hand down the side of the horse's neck.

Zalinde handed Titch the reins to the mare so that she could start loading the loose supplies into Arno's saddle bags. She shrugged. "Well, he's no Isthmene, but he's a fine horse."

Titch looked up at the mare standing placidly beside him. "Is this Isthmene?"

The girl smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with what was either amusement or mischief. She shook her head. "No, that's Damma." She looked past the gelding and pointed to the far end of the courtyard. "That's Isthmene."

Titch followed the line of her gaze, to where Oswyn was guiding a proud-looking chestnut mare across the grounds. He had very little personal experience with horses, but even so he could tell that Isthmene was an exceptional animal. She was tall, sleek and powerful; her steps, while firm and confident, were nearly noiseless on the ground. Oswyn seemed not so much to be leading Isthmene but to be walking beside her. Her head bobbed close to his, as if they were in some private conversation without words. He turned toward the gates, and she followed his step, without even being prodded or told.

Zalinde came to stand beside Titch and folded her arms over her small chest. "Beautiful, isn't she," she murmured, not as a question but as a statement.

Titch nodded silently. He suddenly understood - if only a little - why Oswyn loved riding so much.

Zalinde took Damma's reins from Titch and handed over Arno's. "He's all yours," she told him with a grin.

Titch looked up into Arno's eyes, which seemed almost stolid in comparison to Isthmene's. "He'll be all right?"

The girl nodded dismissively. "He's just a little sleepy this morning." She hefted Torquil's axe into one of the loops on Damma's saddle. She glanced back at Titch. "Do you need help getting up?"

"Perhaps we should find a pony," Oswyn suggested as he approached, cutting between the two of them.

Zalinde shook her head. "Don't pay any attention to him," she told Titch as she continued about her duties. "Having Isthmene has gotten to his head."

Oswyn stopped and looked over the horse's back at the girl. He sucked a short breath through his teeth in dismay. "Oh. You won't miss me?"

Zalinde packed the last of Torquil's supplies in the saddle bag and tightened the securing belt. She shrugged glibly. "What's to miss? You're never here, anyhow." She gave Damma a final pat and walked around to where Titch was standing.

Oswyn sniffed. "Fine," he said, loudly enough so that she would hear. "I won't miss you, either." He didn't actually sound very disappointed, though. He walked off, paying the girl no more attention, and led Isthmene toward the main gates, which were now open.

Titch put his foot up into one of Arno's stirrups and grabbed the pommel of the saddle. He pulled himself up, but he couldn't quite make it into the seat. He dropped his extended foot to the ground again and blew a breath.

Zalinde took his hand and guided it to the side of the harness. "Grab here," she murmured. "That should be easier. Now try it."

Titch followed her instruction and this time he was successful in seating himself in the saddle. His horse stomped once, then settled back into a still position. He found himself gripping the reins quite tightly, and his thighs already began to burn with the effort of keeping himself upright in the seat. "I'm not sure I'm ready for this," he muttered.

With a laugh that sounded genuinely amused, Zalinde patted the horse's flank. "You'll be fine. Just relax and let him do all the work."

"Words to live by," Torquil remarked beneath his breath as he approached. He pulled himself up into Damma's saddle with ease, making Titch feel all the more awkward on his own horse. He clicked his tongue and urged the mare forward at a slow canter.

Titch mimicked Torquil's actions as closely as he was able, and he was rewarded for his efforts when Arno trotted after the mare, briskly but still under control. He grinned at his accomplishment, then waved to Zalinde, who smiled and waved back at him.

Colwyn, Lyssa, and Ergo came out to the gates to meet them. While he knew that neither the King nor Queen would be accompanying them, Titch was surprised that there was not a horse waiting for Ergo.

So was Torquil, who pulled up on the reins to bring the mare to a stop. "I thought you were coming with us for a bit, Magnificence?" He leaned down to ask of Ergo.

The small man beamed. "I am, blunt-wit. But I hardly need a horse. You should know that."

Titch watched as Ergo proceeded to mouth a complicated incantation. The magician's already-compact body seemed to shrink on itself, and his features changed and realigned. His ears pulled back onto his head, and his mouth and jaw shifted forward. His spine lengthened, and he sprouted a noticeable tail. He dropped to all fours, the balls of his hands and feet moving up along his limbs. In the space of a few short seconds, he had changed himself into a mid-sized cat, similar to the ones that prowled the castle's kitchens.

Ergo the cat jumped up onto Titch's saddle and curled himself onto what there was of the boy's lap. "There," he said in a strange, high-pitched version of his normal voice. "You see?" He put one paw out onto the pommel of the saddle.

Titch laughed, amazed as always at Ergo's ability to transform himself. Torquil, meanwhile, could only shake his head.

Colwyn smiled. He reached up and took Torquil's hand, giving it a hearty shake. "Good speed, my friend."

Torquil nodded. "We shouldn't be more than a month's time."

Oswyn swung up onto Isthmene's back. "If you can keep up with me," he teased, pressing the mare into a trot.

Torquil raised his black brows in mock-surprise. "Oh, you think you've surpassed me already, eh?" He gave Colwyn a quick salute and then spurred Damma after his younger companion.

Lyssa passed a small, thin book into Titch's hands. "Remember everything," she muttered to him, and stepped away.

Titch glanced at the book. It was a journal, much like the one he used to keep when he studied with his Master. He tucked the tiny book into his belt and nodded to the Queen.

"Mind Torquil," Colwyn told him. Then he patted Arno's side and bade him farewell with a single wave.

Titch nodded again, this time to the King, and then clicked his heels against the horse's flank and followed Torquil and Oswyn past the kingdom gates.

Sitting with him, Ergo murmured, "Do be careful, now, lad. It's terribly bumpy up here."

* * *

Ergo, who seemed to take on the characteristics of whatever animal he changed into, had soon settled into an easy nap, and Titch was left to let his mind wander. Arno was smart enough to follow the other two horses (though it was easier to follow Damma's steady pace, since Isthmene had a tendency to want to break ahead at regular intervals, so accustomed she was to traveling the countryside alone), so Titch didn't have to control him nearly as much as he thought he would have to do. 

His traveling companions were silent, for the most part, for which the boy was grateful. He had never been very good at making idle conversation. It gave him an opportunity to enjoy the scenery beyond the castle walls, as they went along at their leisure.

At one point, as they were passing through an orchard, Ergo raised his furry head and yawned. "I smell apples," the magician-cat said. He sat up at the front of the saddle and looked around, his feline eyes finally settling on the trees above his head. "Ah, yes. Up there."

Torquil gave Ergo a sidelong grin. "You're hardly of an ability to eat an apple in that state, fuzzy one."

Ergo the cat rose up on his hind legs and stretched one paw outward. "It's the principle, truncheon-nose."

At a nod from Torquil, Oswyn stood up in his stirrups and extended both hands into one of the nearby trees, and once again Titch was impressed by how effortlessly the young man's movements were, especially in the saddle. He pulled down one apple, tossed it to Torquil, then another, and a third. He tossed the last one to Titch, then pulled out one of the daggers fastened to his shoulder harness and started to carve at his own apple.

Torquil took a hearty bite and gave a satisfied little shrug. "A fine idea, whisker-face. I needed a snack."

Ergo made a tiny grunting noise, what was perhaps the feline equivalent of a harrumph. "I am good for much more than sensing food, you know."

Titch smiled at him and rubbed behind the cat's ears. He tore off a piece of meat from the apple with his teeth and held it out for the tiny animal to nibble on.

Torquil finished off his fruit and tossed the decimated core into the trees. He pulled back on Damma's reins and slowed his pace so that he could look Ergo more easily in the eyes. With bowed head, he admitted, "I am well aware of your finer virtues, your magnificence."

"I should hope so," the cat replied, lifting one front paw to lick at the claws.

Torquil spurred Damma on again, but not before adding: "Humility not being one of them."

The cat stopped in mid-lick and glared at Torquil's retreating back. With an audible sniff, he settled down into the saddle again. He craned his head around to look at Titch. "You've been awfully quiet today, dear boy."

"Just thinking," Titch replied.

"Thinking is best done by more than one brain," Ergo reasoned. "Now that I assume you have at least sated your hunger for a bit, perhaps we can think together. What troubles you of late?"

Titch shrugged his shoulders, being careful not to move too much, for fear that Arno might misconstrue some action on his part as a command to bolt or something equally as frightening. "Dreams, I suppose."

Ergo looked interested, or as interested as he could look behind the face of a cat. "Ah. Dreams are secret paths to the soul. What mysteries we cannot easily see in the light of day come clear while we sleep."

In the open air, it was easy for Torquil to eavesdrop, so he interrupted: "And about what kinds of mysteries do you dream, Ergo? The secret ingredient for the perfect pie? Perhaps how to transform yourself into something ridiculous, like a dragon?"

Titch started up at Torquil's mention of dragons, but Ergo merely crossed his front paws over each other and narrowed his eyes; though beneath his veneer of haughty annoyance there was genuine humor. "You will miss my company when it comes time to part ways, mark my words."

Torquil grinned. "I'm certain I will," he said.

Oswyn had hung back, as well, and now he leaned down against Isthmene's neck and offered her the last bite of his apple. "There are sweeter and softer things of which to dream than pies or dragons," he said with a faintly abstracted smile.

Torquil nodded wryly. "Aye, we all know where your interests lie, Oswyn."

Ergo ruffled the fur on his back and hunkered down again. "Pay those sword-wielding simpletons no heed, my boy. Tell me. What was your dream?"

Titch glanced around, feeling foolish. "Actually," he said in a quiet voice. "I did dream of dragons. Old ones. My Master used to tell me about the dragons who ruled Krull."

"Poppycock." Ergo sniffed. "Dragons are a thing of myth." At the hurt look on Titch's face, he added, "Though I do recall reading something about intelligent flying beasts. But those would not have been dragons in the traditional sense. More likely, wyvern familiars."

"What's a wyvern?" Titch asked, his interest piqued by this idea.

"A small dragon." Ergo responded in a matter-of-fact way. Somehow, being a cat made his know-it-all demeanor more striking.

"I thought that you just said -"

Ergo clarified: "Speaking of the essence of the thing. Even so, no one has seen a wyvern in generations."

Titch's eyes brightened at the thought of a majestic creature of lore. "I think that I should very much like to see one."

Ergo had begun to clean a spot on his shoulder when he stopped and looked the boy squarely in the eyes. "Be careful for what you wish, lad. Dreams are one thing; reality is quite something else again."

"Speaking of reality," Torquil said, dropping back in the procession again. "The reality of our situation is that the kingdom border is fast approaching." He looked pointedly at the cat sitting in Arno's saddle and brought Damma to a halt. "What will you do, o feline one?"

Ergo got up and stretched his little limbs. "You're right, of course. I should be heading back. Even flying, I should be lucky to return to the castle before dusk."

"Already?" Titch asked, unable to mask the disappointment evident in his voice. "We hardly had any time."

Ergo jumped from the front of the saddle to the grassy ground. He turned his head up to the three riders who had clustered around him. He looked very tiny among the horses, but only for a moment. With a subtle incantation, he was restored to his former bipedal self, complete with grin. He puffed his chest. "Well," he said with a measure of self-importance. "It has been a lovely journey, friends, but here is where I must bid you leave." He gave a theatrical bow at the waist.

"Good journey, Ergo," Oswyn offered, turning in his saddle as Isthmene stomped impatiently.

Titch forced a smile. "I'll miss your company."

Ergo gave the boy an exaggerated wink. "Oh, these two aren't so bad. You'll see. They can even come in quite handy in a spot of trouble."

The smile Titch wore became more genuine. "I know." Despite his apprehension about being on this quest, he knew that Torquil and Oswyn were the most effective protectors he could have after Colwyn himself.

Ergo gave a final wave, and then he made a shooing gesture with his arms. "Well, I hate long goodbyes. Off with you, now! You have the King's work to do!" With that, he said another spell, and his form changed again, this time into a large, crooked-beaked eagle. After a brief check to make sure everything was in its proper place, Ergo flapped his wings and rose into the air. He swiftly gained altitude, then squawked back at the travelers in a sharp, cawing cry: "Good speed! Good speed!"

Torquil followed the transformed mage with his eyes as the eagle ascended higher and higher into the sky, murmuring, "Fly safely, friend." His gaze lingered on the receding shadow of the eagle's wingspan against the cloudless sky for several long moments. Then he turned to his companions. "Steady on, lads. Daylight's burning." He clapped Damma's reins and headed onward at a trot. After a brief exchange of glances, the boys followed.

Where the afternoon had been balmy, dusk brought a chill to the air that made Titch's nose run. He was forced to pull the travel cloak from Arno's saddle bag, and now he huddled beneath it, the cloth bunching up around his neck and giving him a stooped appearance. He wished suddenly to be back at the castle, in the royal library where the fire was always warm, or in the kitchens with the smell of cooking food and washing water, or snuggled in his bed with the reading candles casting flickering shadows on the wall. Or, at least, someplace out of the open.

Torquil didn't seem to be much impressed with the progress of their journey so far, either. "I thought you said this was the short route to the Andelmar border tower," he barked to Oswyn.

"It is," the youth replied. "The trader path is an extra half-day's ride."

"Well, it's nearly dark now. How bloody close is it?" His year as Lord-Marshall had done nothing to pacify his quick temper.

Oswyn looked off into the distance, squinting against the encroaching black. "Not far. Maybe another hour's ride."

"An hour?" Torquil echoed. By his tone, he didn't like the sound of that.

Oswyn shrugged. "Or two."

"Well, make up your mind, man!"

"It's not my fault!" Oswyn said defensively. "We would be there by now if we didn't have to travel so slowly." At this, he looked pointedly at Titch, hunched over in his saddle.

Torquil looked back at the young boy, as well. He breathed a contemplative sigh through his nose.

Titch was about to apologize, but he thought it wiser simply to keep his mouth shut. Recriminations and regrets would do little to help their situation at this point.

Torquil maneuvered Damma to come beside Arno. "Right then," he muttered. He stopped both horses, Damma with his heels and Arno with a tug on the gelding's reins. He shifted back a bit in his saddle and told Titch: "Come on; up here with me."

Titch pushed his cloak back and sat up straight. "I can ride faster if we have to."

Torquil shook his head gently. "Not as fast as we'll need to get to the tower by moonrise. You'll learn much of riding on this journey, I'd wager, but now isn't the time. Come on," he said again, and reached across to take him beneath the arms. He lifted Titch onto Damma, and the mare snorted but didn't complain further.

Oswyn waited for them to catch up, then took Arno's reins from Torquil. "He's smart enough to follow us, I think," he said, speaking of the horse.

"Just keep an eye on him," Torquil told him. He adjusted his seating on Damma and told Titch: "Hold tight, now. This won't be very comfortable."

Oswyn fairly beamed at the prospect of a flat-out run with his thoroughbred beauty. "Try to keep up," he muttered, then clapped the mare into a gallop.

Titch leaned close to Damma's neck as Torquil followed suit, but it was admittedly difficult to keep pace with Isthmene. Even rider-less Arno, snorting and dashing behind Isthmene, was troubled with the effort.

Torquil probably meant only to murmur it, but it came out more as a shout in the racing wind and the sound of hooves pounding the ground: "What a waste is vigor on the young."

Titch smiled, suddenly enjoying himself for the first time this day, to spite the cold and the coming unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**II**

_The dragons looked upon the boy with neither malice nor fear. They thought him beneath their notice. So when he came to seek Behal, the queen of dragons, they let him pass through their ranks. What was one boy to the boundless power and grandeur of dragonkin?_

_The boy found Behal in her great fiery chamber, slumbering but restless._

_He had come with a sword (his grandfather's) and a shield (his father's), but these would not prove useful against Behal's strength and scale. So he put them away, and approached her, unarmed but unafraid._

_And then she woke._

* * *

"Good morning, little one."

Titch rubbed at his eyes and sat up. For a moment, he could not remember where he was. The room was round, made of stone, not unlike his room at the castle but much smaller. There were four beds (he was sitting in one of these) spaced around the room, and a fireplace built into one wall, but otherwise it was unremarkable. Save, of course, for the charming woman who sat on the edge of his bed.

She looked to be about Colwyn's age, perhaps a year or two older. She did not have the pristine prettiness of the girls in the castle; rather, she had a happy if unkempt look about her, like one who receives great pleasure from her work even if her work is not particularly clean.

"Your name is Titch, right?"

The boy nodded.

She sat back and smiled. "I am Praneth. I'm sorry for the accommodations; we weren't expecting anyone last night."

Titch blinked. He couldn't recall much of anything from the night before. He remembered the ride on Damma, but he must have fallen into a doze at some point. Upon reflection, he did recall arriving at the tower, and Torquil saying something about the lateness of their arrival, and then being hustled inside.

"You need not apologize. It was very comfortable," he assured her. "And I guess I needed the sleep."

She seemed happy with his reply. "You can wash downstairs, then join us for some breakfast." She handed over a stack of coarse but clean towels and stood up to leave.

"Thank you," Titch called after her.

Praneth turned back to him at the top of the spiral staircase. "You're very welcome," she said haltingly, as if she hadn't expected thanks for simply performing her duty.

Titch collected his satchel and hurried down the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom floor, he could smell the enticing aromas of baked breads and syrupy fruits. He peeked out beyond the arch of the stairs and saw Torquil, Oswyn, and another man sitting at a simple table and partaking of both food and some kind of steaming drink. He glanced the other way and saw Praneth coming toward him with a kettle.

She tossed her head in the direction from which she had come. "There's a basin with some water and soap that way."

Titch thanked her again, and she smiled.

Quickly, he set about the morning necessity of relieving himself, and then he gave himself a rather rushed wash-down. The basin water was still relatively warm, but he could only rinse his skin with it - not dunk or lay in it like a proper tub - so he was immediately chilled. Still, it was a nice feeling, if brisk. It certainly made him more awake than he had been.

He pulled on his jerkin and pants, stuffing his grimy underclothes from the day before in the bottom of the satchel, and hurried out to the table. Praneth had a metal plate of bread and fruit chunks waiting for him. He set to eating right away, partly because he didn't want to make anyone wait on him and partly because he was suddenly very hungry.

There was a round of raucous laughter - Torquil's basso guffaw was dominating - as Titch came to the table and started in on his breakfast.

Praneth giggled as she filled a short cup with tea and set it before Titch. "He never told you that?" She asked the Lord-Marshall.

Torquil shook his head, still laughing. "No," he said, looking Oswyn up and down, and Titch figured that they must have been talking about the younger ex-thief.

Praneth rolled her eyes and leaned against the edge of the table. "Oh, gods. He must have jumped half the rooftops in town for that stupid bird."

"At least we ate," Oswyn offered in his own defense.

Praneth had no comeback except to slap him in the shoulder with the rag dangling from her apron. Then she leaned down and kissed him briefly on the cheek.

The third man at the table raised his mug to his lips, but not before saying, "I've told Praneth more than once that she's lucky to have found you again."

Oswyn nodded. "I was glad to know that she was all right."

Titch looked from one adult to the next in this conversation, keeping quiet while he ate. He had learned in his time with his Master that it was often more advantageous to listen than to speak in conversations. Whatever else was going on, Oswyn seemed to have a more interesting past than he had at first thought. Of course, he thought, any past with a woman as endearing as Praneth was more interesting than the alternative.

At the moment, she stood over Oswyn, rubbing one of his shoulders. "Tarro is right - I had no idea where you would end up. I feared prison, or worse."

Torquil's amused demeanor faded to a thoughtful quiescence. "Fate was not overly unkind to our Oswyn, I think."

"Not overly so," the younger man agreed quietly, rubbing absently at his wrists, where once there had been manacles.

In the reflective silence that followed, only Titch made any noise, as he finished up the remnants of breakfast. He downed the last of his now only mildly warm tea and started to stack his dishes together.

Praneth shooed him away. "Oh, don't you bother with that now. I'll take care of it."

Tarro stood up and piled the dishes and cups together. "I think I had better get used to this, love. You sit and rest a while."

She pursed her lips in mock-disapproval, but she did take his seat as he bustled the stack of crockery into the kitchen area. "Don't be pampering me, Tarro," she called after him. "It's still a few months yet before I'll even show."

Torquil smiled knowingly at her. "Ah! Congratulations then to you, Missus."

Oswyn turned to look at her, blinking. He looked surprised, even mildly hurt. "Pran. You didn't say anything."

She lowered her eyes, blushing, and Titch noticed that beneath her scattered bangs and element-weathered skin, she was quite pretty. "I thought perhaps to surprise you one day with a little niece or nephew."

"That would have been a surprise," Oswyn agreed with a smile.

Praneth chuckled. She seemed uncomfortable beneath the men's scrutiny, so she changed the subject. "Well. As lovely as this has been, you don't need me taking up your time." She stood and made a fuss over setting the table to rights once again. "If you want to reach the Hyrwyn River country before nightfall, you'll have to ride hard."

Torquil stood, as well, grimacing at the creaking in his knees. "All right, then. You heard her. Let's prep the horses." He tapped Titch on the shoulder. "I think you'll take Damma today, lad; she's an easier disposition than Arno. You should be able to press her without much trouble."

Titch nodded and followed Torquil's commands, but surreptitiously he watched Oswyn and Praneth exchange a few quiet words and a quick embrace. He felt a distinct emptiness inside of him; since he had no family himself, it had never consciously occurred to him that the others with whom he traveled did. He realized that he had more to learn on this journey than simply the nature of a mysterious artifact.

Torquil tapped him on the shoulder again. "Leave them be a moment," he whispered. "Someday, you'll want a private goodbye, as well."

Titch agreed silently. Neither his old Master nor Colwyn would have been proud of that. He scolded himself for being so nosy and inconsiderate, and turned his concentration to preparing his things for another day's travel.

It didn't take long to make sure that their supplies were replenished and that their mounts were ready, although Titch was fairly certain that Oswyn would have liked a bit more time with Praneth. As it was, he lingered longer than Titch would have thought, until Torquil - already astride Arno - prodded him gently:

"We need to be moving on, Oswyn."

The youth nodded wordlessly, and hugged Praneth again.

"Be safe, Os," she muttered into the side of his neck. When they parted, she looked up at both Titch and Torquil. "And you, as well. The Hyrwyn isn't that far, but we've heard rumors of roaming bandits."

Oswyn smiled. "I don't think passing rogues should give us much trouble."

She squinted with obvious disapproval at such bravado, but then gave him a more affectionate smile.

Torquil bowed his head in deference to her. "Thank you, Praneth. And thank Tarro, as well. The King is in your debt."

Praneth grinned. "The King, eh?"

Torquil returned her grin in kind. "I am in your debt, and I speak for him."

She patted Oswyn's leg as he swung into Isthmene's saddle. "You are in good company, indeed, then."

"Be well, Pran," Oswyn replied. Then he clapped Isthmene to a canter.

Torquil and Titch followed, the boy waving an enthusiastic farewell to the young woman. She returned the wave, watched the trio for a moment longer, then returned into the tower.

Titch kept looking back toward the tower as they rode, until its spire was lost behind the cover of a copse of trees. He thought that even though they could no longer see the riders, that Praneth and Tarro's good feelings came with them. He hoped so.

As the day wore on, Titch found that the Lord-Marshall had been correct: Damma was easier to ride and control than Arno had been, although neither horse still was as swift or intuitive as Isthmene. Even so, Titch was beginning to enjoy riding. There was a strange sort of solitude about it, despite the close presence of other riders. At speed, there was little possibility for meaningful conversation, so he had the opportunity to think.

Before Colwyn had entered his life, he had never traveled much. He knew that he was born in Anva on the coast - he had been told that much about his past - but he could barely remember a time before living with his Master in the Emerald Sanctuary in the mountains. And travel with his Master consisted mostly of weekly outings in the close area around the Sanctuary, and an annual pilgrimage to the Emerald Temple in the swamps of the Wyn'Nah Mabrug. Even after he accompanied Colwyn to the White Castle, he spent most of his time indoors, certainly inside the castle proper. Wanderlust had never really appealed to him. Now, though, he understood why it struck some folk.

They stopped at a small stream for a short duration, to let the horses rest and drink. Titch drew a little in the journal given to him by Queen Lyssa, his imagination captured by a particularly oddly-shaped tree along the stream's edge. Oswyn made a half-hearted, almost bored attempt to catch some small game, but after being outrun and outmaneuvered by the same rabbit twice, he gave up and settled for a handful of sugar reeds that grew along the bank. Torquil was the only one of them who seemed anxious. He kept staring into the distance, as if troubled by something unseen.

Finally, Oswyn couldn't take the undercurrent of unease any longer. "What is it?" He asked his leader with a measure of concern.

"Lona," Torquil muttered in a low voice.

Titch looked up from his sketching. "Where is Lona?" The place didn't sound familiar to him, although he would be the first to admit that he wasn't very familiar with most names outside of his studies.

Oswyn didn't know, either, though. He could only look at Titch and shrug his shoulders silently. He looked at Torquil again and waited. When it seemed as though no more information would be forthcoming, he addressed the Lord-Marshall again.

Torquil breathed sharply and kicked at some dirt with the toe of his boot. "Lona is not a place. She's a woman. She lives near the Hyrwyn."

"Women are good," Oswyn ventured lightly.

"Not this one," Torquil replied. "I've been avoiding this one."

"Why?"

Titch thought for sure that Torquil would tell Oswyn simply to mind his own business, but he didn't. Rather, he gave his answer:

"Lona was Kegan's wife. One of them, anyway. She lives in Lameksis."

Both boys fell silent of a sudden, reminded of cocksure and charming Kegan. He had been a thief in Torquil's band of merry crooks, just like Oswyn, but Kegan had also been a fine friend, the closest friend that Torquil had found once he claimed leadership of the thieves, until Colwyn. Both boys knew that Colwyn had gone a distance toward healing the emptiness in Torquil's soul that had been there since Kegan's death, but still Kegan and his unfortunate fate weighed heavily on Torquil's conscience.

The Lord-Marshall nodded, noticing that they remembered the name and the man to go with it. "Yes, so you see why I am in no hurry to tell a widow about her husband."

After a while spent in silence, during which time the few shadows that managed to penetrate the trees began to lengthen, Torquil called them to mount up again. They were wasting the light sitting in their melancholy malaise, and they had a duty to perform, Lona or no Lona.

"We could find another way," Oswyn suggested as they started on their way again. "There has to be another route to Bellan."

Torquil seemed to consider this option for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No. Fate brought us this way, I think. I've been avoiding this for too long." He urged Arno ahead, through the edge of the treeline and into the great expanse of plain that was Hyrwyn River country.

They didn't reach the Hyrwyn port of Lameksis before nightfall, a fact which seemed to ease Torquil's mind a bit. Rather, they stopped in a thicket shelter that reminded Titch very much of the Emerald Sanctuary, where he had spent many days and nights studying with and aiding his Master. They built a fire and ate cured meat and drank watered-down liquor that was nonetheless quite warming.

Titch pulled his travel blanket around him and huddled close to the fire, which made the skin on his face feel delightfully hot. He began to doze, his head nodding down to his chest, as the crackling of the fire lulled his mind and his muscles.

He had just begun to nightdream - the flames before his face transformed into a great blazing chamber, and the white heart of the fire a colossal scarlet dragon, her eyes pinpoint-sharp and staring straight into him - when one of the horses snorted, and he woke with a fierce start.

From where he stood near Isthmene, Oswyn looked across the fire at him. "Go back to sleep," he told the younger boy in a whisper.

Titch looked about him and saw Torquil lying nearby, his head resting on one of the satchels. He was also snoring audibly. Still, Titch didn't want to wake him, so he whispered back, "If you're tired, I think I can watch for a while."

Oswyn finished securing Isthmene's tether to one of the stronger bushes and came to sit nearer the fire. He tossed an errant twig into the flames and shook his head. "That's all right. I'm used to it."

Titch pulled his blanket closer around him and looked at the older youth for a long while. At last, he said, "May I ask you something?"

Oswyn shrugged, disinterested. "I suppose."

Without the scrutiny that came with daylight, Titch found that he could be more forthright with Oswyn than usual. "Why did you leave Praneth? When you were younger, I mean."

The other boy made a face. "I didn't 'leave.' I was sold."

Titch couldn't fathom the idea. Things - possessions - were sold, not people. "What do you mean?"

Oswyn tossed another twig into the fire, and it snapped and burst. "We were sold, to whomever would pay for us. Pran was lucky; she was a maidservant."

"You didn't go with her?"

"Don't be daft," he said. He didn't sound particularly angry, merely annoyed at the question. "No one buys two children."

The cold indifference with which Oswyn spoke of the auction of himself and his sister was both sobering and sad. It made Titch reflect on his own childhood. He had had neither friends his own age nor much contact with the outside world; but his Master had been kind and had taught him many things. It had not been a life of leisure, to be sure...but it had not been hardship, either.

"So then," Titch asked haltingly, "where did you go?"

Oswyn averted his gaze from the other boy and started poking at the edges of the fire with a stick. His eyes watched the embers on the tip of the stick pop and smoke for several long moments. Then he said, simply, "Not with her."

Titch wasn't sure if he was merely projecting his own misery onto Oswyn, or if the older youth really did feel as wretched as he looked, but he thought that there was much more to the story than what he was being told. It was all he could do to say, "I'm sorry."

Oswyn stared into the flames for one moment longer, and then he shook his head, his bangs falling into his face. "You have no need to be sorry. It's none of your concern." He tossed the stick into the fire and stood up. "Get some rest. We still have far to travel in the morning."

Titch considered saying something more, but Oswyn didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation any longer. So, he pulled his blanket up around his neck and lay down on his side. He watched the fire for a while longer, and after a time he fell asleep again, but this time he did not dream. At least, what he did dream he did not remember come the day.

* * *

Everyone would have agreed that the White Castle was a splendid place in which to live. There were hundreds of rooms and hidden chambers to explore; its libraries and ballrooms alike were splendidly designed, their walls adorned with luscious tapestries and fine paintings; welcoming fires were always burning; and with the exception of when he had first arrived, the castle always seemed to be full of people. But even the White Castle had not prepared Titch for the bustle of a city like Lameksis.

The trio of riders could see the outline of the city from nearly a full league off. There were two parapets on either side of the main gate, each lit with a blazing watch beacon. Dots moved along the top of the walls, no doubt soldiers or militiamen keeping lookout. The smoke from several fires billowed out over the center of the city, and there was the distinct smell of ironworking even at this distance.

Even Torquil - who had done more traveling across the lands of Krull and had seen more towns and cities than Oswyn and Titch combined - was impressed by the sight.

"Steady on, lads," the Lord-Marshall murmured after a long look at the city's massive walls. "It'll not fare us well if we enter looking like a pack of country bumpkins. We're here on a mission for the King, after all."

So they spurred on their horses and covered the final distance to the port city in somewhat awed silence. While there were indeed archers and spearmen along the outer wall, they let the riders enter without question.

As he passed beneath the arch of the main gates, Titch looked up at the two archers standing closest to the opening and smiled. The one on the left continued his lookout without even really noticing him, but the one on the right spared the boy a friendly wave.

Once inside the city walls, riding down the main thoroughfare with the regular walking, mounted and carriage traffic, there were all manner of sights and sounds to amaze. Titch was particularly interested in a large Keshi blacksmith working at his anvil, until a show of squawky starlings interrupted his attention.

A small crowd of children ran in front of their horses, and all three mounts stomped and snorted, unaccustomed to the presence of rowdy children. Titch thought for a moment that the tots might be frightened or hurt, but they laughed and kept running, except for one. A tiny girl - no more than five or six, with her dark red hair done in braids - giggled at him.

"You have funny hair!" She exclaimed. There was no malice in her laughter or her words, though, so Titch smiled. Then he puffed his cheeks out and crossed his eyes, which made the girl giggle even more vociferously. After a moment, she was away, having effectively disappeared among the other children on the street.

They approached a mid-sized establishment that seemed to be some sort of inn, and Torquil took Titch inside while Oswyn went to secure the horses in the stable area behind the building.

Where the street had been a confusing, almost overwhelming conglomeration of sights and sounds, the inside of the inn seemed merely to be in a state of mostly-controlled chaos. No less than four attractive young women were moving among the tables laying out food and drink for patrons, while an older woman oversaw the comings and goings from behind a heavy oak-constructed bar.

The manager waved at Torquil as they came up to the bar. "We've got an age requirement, love," she said in a friendly-enough manner, indicating Titch with a nod of her head. "Your boy's going to have to wait a few years yet."

Torquil raised a hand, as if to say that the suspension of some of their guest privileges was all right. "We're not looking for service, just a room and some information." He also didn't contradict her on her assumption of Titch being his son, but the boy figured there was probably a good reason for that.

The woman shrugged. "Well, some words are worth more than others. What's it you're looking for?"

Torquil laid his hand on the smooth bar, then shifted his palm away to show her the coin he'd put there. "A woman. Her name's Lona. She's from up in the-"

The manager waved at him with the cloth she had been using to wash down the bar. "Oh, Lona!" She said the name as if they were close relatives. "She's not working tonight, but you'll find her abouts later, I'm sure. She usually gets dinner before the late crowd comes in." She looked down at the coin. "Now, is there anything else I can help you tired souls with?"

Torquil smiled at her and put down another handful of currency. "Much obliged, madam. We'll be settling in, now."

She took the money from the bar, pocketed it, and grinned. "Top of the stairs, first on the left. There's a bath at the end of that hall, but full service for it costs extra."

The Lord-Marshall nodded in understanding. "Just the basics, thank you."

She shrugged again. "Suit yourself," she said, then turned to another customer.

Torquil picked up his satchel and turned Titch away from the bar. "Come on," he said in a low voice. They met Oswyn at the bottom of the stairs, where he was talking with one of the pretty serving maids. Torquil took him by the arm and directed him up the stairs. "Forget her, Oswyn," he muttered. "You can't afford it."

Titch considered asking what all of that was about, but he eventually decided that Torquil probably wouldn't tell him, anyway.

The room was tiny, smaller even than the tower room at Andelmar, with two mid-size beds and a low-backed chaise that Titch immediately claimed for his own by bouncing on the worn cushions. The walls were solid and bare, save for one square window that looked out onto the stable area below. The wooden floor was relatively clean, although it was thin enough to hear the revelers downstairs with ease.

"This is depressing," Oswyn remarked from the doorway.

Torquil stopped in mid-motion as he was setting his bags down and turned to the youth. "It's better than nothing," he said pointedly. "And you can do with the rest; you're practically falling over."

Oswyn stumbled over to one of the beds, giving weight to his leader's words. "I'm not usually away from the castle for more than a day or two." He started to lie down, when Torquil threw a coarse towel at him.

"You need a bath first. I don't want to meet Lona with you smelling like a wild animal."

Oswyn sat up and smiled languorously. "I could do with a hot bath." He stood, grabbing a change of clean clothes from his satchel, and headed out the door.

As the younger man left, Torquil looked at Titch. "And what of you, young master? What are your plans for the evening?"

"I can choose?" Titch asked, surprised at this option. It had not occurred to him that there would come a time during this journey before its end when he would be free to make his own decisions.

Torquil laughed. "Of course. Though you probably shouldn't wander too far. A city this size can be deceptively dangerous."

Titch wasn't sure what he wanted. He suddenly felt pressured, and he didn't much care for the feeling. "Can I come with you? I would like to meet Lona." That wasn't entirely true - he had no vested interest in meeting the woman - but he liked Torquil and felt safe with him.

Torquil shrugged. "If that's what you'd like. I'm sure she wouldn't mind another man at the table."

Like most of the discussions since they had arrived in Lameksis, Titch didn't quite understand exactly what was being said. But he was glad that Torquil was willing to let him tag along for the evening.

As soon as Oswyn returned (smelling sweeter but still unabashedly wet), Torquil left to wash up, and the two boys were once more left to their own devices. Titch had already busied himself with writing in Lyssa's journal, trying to capture in words the look and feel of the city. He had never been to a city before - there were so many people! And he still had no idea what to expect of this Lona person. He looked over to the second bed, where Oswyn had begun to doze.

"Did Kegan have many wives?" Titch asked of a sudden. He had no good reason for asking the question; just his curiosity getting the better of his sense of decorum.

Oswyn opened his eyes. "I don't know." He thought for a long moment, then changed his answer: "A few, I suppose."

"You don't have any wives, do you?"

"Hmf. Never found any woman to satisfy me that much."

Titch considered the prospect of a female companion, although his only experience of one was Queen Lyssa. "I think I should like to have a wife."

That made Oswyn sit up and laugh. "Do you even know what you would do with a wife?"

Titch felt an inexplicable blush rise into his face. "I think I would like the company, that's all. Someone to talk to, who would understand me."

Oswyn looked at him, a little smile on his lips, then shrugged and lay back down. "I suppose that's as good a reason as any."

"Why? What would you do?"

"Talking would not be my first choice."

"Lyssa likes talking with me," Titch offered in support of his opinion.

"You speak about the Queen like she is some common peasant-girl." Oswyn opened his eyes and turned his head. "She isn't."

For some reason, Titch felt a twinge of defensiveness, toward both Lyssa and himself. "You tell me that she is not like other women, but how can you say that? You don't even know her. At least I have spent time with her."

Titch sat back, recalling the way that Lyssa had first invited him to investigate the tomes in the royal library. He had not been in the castle for a week when she had asked him if he would be interested in reading some of the old manuscripts; perhaps he had seen parts of some of them before, in his studies with his Master. He recalled in particular the way that the sun shone through the red-gold curls that framed her head, like a celestial halo, and the way that her pale, delicate fingers played along the spines of the books against the wall as if they were strings on an instrument.

"She is intelligent and thoughtful, wise and kind," he mused, still basking in the glow of her memory. "And so beautiful."

"You sound like you're in love with her," the outrider muttered. He glanced over at Titch, then stared more thoughtfully; the look on the boy's face was unmistakable. He sat halfway up, leaning on one elbow. "You are in love with her," he said softly.

Titch looked down at his hands, which were still holding the Queen's gift to him. "Everyone loves Queen Lyssa," he stated in a quiet voice. After a moment's contemplation, he turned to the other youth. "Don't you?"

Oswyn's expression was one that Titch couldn't read. Finally, he said, "She is my Queen, and I will follow her as such." Then he lay down again, his head cupped in his hands, and would say no more on the subject.

After a while, Titch resumed writing in his little journal, making certain to include several unfavorable phrases about the convoluted, complicated opinions about women held by both of his companions. After reading over what he had just wrote, though, he decided that perhaps those thoughts were best left private to his own counsel. So he tore the sheet with the offending words on it from the journal and pushed it through a decayed knothole in one of the floor boards next to the chaise. Someone might find it someday (he wagered it would not be Oswyn or Torquil) but even if that were to happen, it would no longer be of any consequence to him.

He was still leaning over the side of the chaise when Torquil returned, dressed only in his shirt and pants; he tossed the more formal vestments to the unoccupied bed.

Titch pulled himself upright. "Are we going to meet Lona now?" He asked expectantly.

Torquil snickered. "We shall soon see." He prodded Oswyn's prone form. "Come on. You can sleep after we eat."

The older youth forced himself up from the bed and sighed as he pulled on his boots. "I thought you didn't want to see this woman."

Torquil grunted. "Be that as it may, I made a promise to a friend. I fully intend to keep it." He reached for his axe, thought better of it, and instead slipped his dagger into his belt. He nodded at Oswyn's sword belt. "Better to bring those, I think," he muttered.

"Do you expect trouble?"

Torquil grinned, a note of malice hidden between the edges of his teeth. "I always expect trouble."

* * *

The crowd in the inn had turned noisy, almost as if there were some celebration of which the three visitors from the White Castle were ignorant. A group of swordsmen in one corner were warbling some terribly out-of-tune hymn to the virtues of bloody battle, while a mix of young men and women on the other side of the room were screaming laughter over something apparently very amusing. In the midst of this, girls with high-laden trays of food and drink waded between drunken revelers and disgruntled customers asking for this or that service.

Titch was surprised that anyone could hear themselves think in all of the cacophony; he was more accustomed to quiet evenings spent munching on his meals while poring over a book or map. Even when he joined the others for dinner in the main dining hall, there was usually only one conversation going on, and it was always a civil one.

Not so, here. One particularly inebriated fellow groped blindly at a pretty young woman as she passed, and she tumbled down into his lap. She made an attempt to get up, but he circled an arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her. With a toss of her blonde head and a heave of her shapely hips, she got back on her feet and planted her heel directly into the fellow's shin, which made Titch nearly spit up his dinner from laughter.

"I told ye, I'm not working tonight!" She said, and turned, her skirts following the motion of her hips in the most interesting way. She looked straight at Titch and winked, which made her freckled nose wrinkle as if she were sniffing for something. Then she glanced at the other men at the table and stopped in her tracks. "Torquil? By the gods, it is you!" She nearly collapsed into the Lord-Marshall's lap as she gave him a great hug around his neck.

Torquil went both white and speechless from surprise, but only for a moment. He had not earned his title by being unprepared, so he stood and pulled out the extra chair at their table. "Lona," he said, his voice cracking ever-so-slightly. "Join us." He made a round of introductions for his companions.

Lona sat opposite the two boys, and she eyed them both squarely. She squinted at Oswyn first, then at Titch. "That one looks a bit old to be one of yours," she said as an audible aside to Torquil, "but what about the little one?"

"I share no kinship with either," Torquil replied with a wistful smile. "We're merely...traveling together." He had warned the boys earlier about not making known the true purpose of their journey; political strife was still not unheard of, even in the lands so close to the White Castle.

He had no reason to have worried, as it turned out. Lona seemed neither concerned about nor interested in the reasons that had brought Torquil to her doorstep. She looked around the room, her loosely-kept hair flying about her pretty face. "And where's Kegan, now?" She asked. "He'd better not have gotten himself another girl while he was off causing trouble with you."

Torquil's expression turned serious. "Lona. We should talk."

Titch would have given much at that moment not to have seen the change in her face. Suddenly, the sparkle in her blue eyes was gone, and her lips fell from their graceful smile. She looked as if she were about to cry. "Oh, gods," she whispered, and by some trick of the room - a lull in all conversations, a break in all singing, a stillness of all clattering of crockery - Titch heard every painful nuance in her voice perfectly.

"It was not my intention to tell you in this way," Torquil said in as soft a voice as he could while still being heard.

Lona turned her face away from the table, blinking furiously. "Oh, damn your intentions, Torquil," she told him curtly. When she looked back his way, her eyes were slightly redder than before, but she forced a wry smile to her lips. "I should have known you wouldn't come to find me to spread good news. How did it happen?"

Torquil opened his mouth to speak; he had obviously prepared his story and was ready for this.

However, Lona was not. She shook her head quickly. "No, I have changed my mind. I don't want to know. I would rather remember him in my own way, if you don't mind."

Torquil bowed his head. "I don't." He added, almost as an afterthought, "I am sorry."

She slapped her hands down on the table and stood up. "Well! This crowd has ceased to amuse me. Why don't you gentlemen join me someplace more agreeable?"

"If you would like," Torquil said, rising from his seat.

Lona offered them a gentle smile. "I would."

"May I come, as well?" Titch asked, pushing in his chair as he stood.

Only Oswyn declined. "I'm going to get some sleep," he said, palming the last crust of bread before heading for the stairs.

"Fair enough," Torquil said, nodding to Oswyn. Then he put a hand behind Titch's back and the two of them went after Lona into the darkening night.

Once outside, they followed her down the main street for a few minutes, until they came to a side alley bordered on either side by several low-rise buildings. She opened the door to one of the smaller dwellings and ushered Torquil and Titch inside.

Within was a large room that seemed to occupy nearly the entire first floor. There was an archway near the back that Lona said led to the washroom, but the rest of the room was open. In the center of the room there was a small wooden table with three mismatched chairs; against one wall was a tiny hutch and fireplace, where an iron pot gave off the tantalizing smell of vegetables and broth; against the other wall was a large bed, its blankets piled in a haphazard fashion on one side.

As Lona closed the door, the blankets on the bed moved, startling both Titch and Torquil. A muffled voice called, "Mama?" A very young girl poked her head out from under the blankets.

Titch smiled; it was the same girl from before, the one who had spoken to him in the street. "Hello there," he said cordially.

Lona seemed surprised that Titch recognized the girl. "How do you know Kela?"

"We met earlier today," Titch informed her. "Along the main street, as we entered the city." He offered the little girl a friendly wave.

Lona scolded: "Kela! You know that you are not supposed to go out into the city without me!"

The little girl pulled the blankets up to her chin. "I am sorry, Mama." Then she scampered out of the bed and ran to Lona, hugging her skirts.

Lona lifted the girl into her arms and kissed her cheek. "Ah, child, you are willful. Just like your father." She looked pointedly at Torquil.

The Lord-Marshall stood agape at the woman and child. "Kegan?" He whispered.

Lona nodded furtively. She set Kela down on the floor. "Why don't you bring out some cups?" She said, putting her hands on her knees to look the girl directly in the eyes.

Kela smiled and hurried to the hutch by the fireplace. She pulled open one of the doors and brought out four cups, trying to balance all of them in her tiny hands.

Titch bent down next to her, taking two of the cups from her. "Let me help," he said softly.

Kela nodded. "All right."

"What do you say?" Lona asked the girl.

Kela smiled again and giggled at Titch. "Thank you," she said, and Titch decided that he very much liked the sound of her high-pitched laugh.

As the children set the cups on the table and Kela clambered up into one of the seats, Lona walked over to the hutch and pulled two bottles from inside - one squat and plain and the other tall and slightly ornamented. She uncorked the shorter bottle and filled the children's cups with some tea-colored liquid. She set the taller bottle in front of Torquil. "Do pour me some of that, will you?" She picked Kela up into her lap and sat down in the girl's chair.

Titch took a sip of the drink - it was a tea of some kind, though very weak and quite well-honeyed - and traded smiles with Kela. He had spent only a short time with Kegan, all things considered, but even he could see that the girl bore a striking resemblance to her father.

Kela was studying Torquil with intensity. Even from over the rim of her cup (which she had to hold with both hands to keep steady, a mannerism that Titch found adorable), she peered at him with great contemplation. Finally, she grinned at him and asked, "Are you my father?"

Torquil sputtered his drink. With some concentration, he managed to regain some composure. He shook his head. "I'm afraid not. But I did know your father."

"Where is he?" Kela asked. "When is he coming for us?"

Lona bounced the girl on her knee. "Ah, love. Let's talk about that later."

Apparently, Kela had heard that excuse before, because she stopped pursuing the subject. "All right," she said casually. She brought her cup to her lips again and took a large gulp.

Lona put her arms around the girl and hugged her and kissed her head. Then she looked at Torquil. "When do we leave?"

Torquil raised an eyebrow at her. "What is this, now?"

Lona fingered her own cup, but she didn't touch the drink. "There is no longer any reason for us to wait here in Lameksis. So we're coming with you."

"I don't think that's a wise idea," Torquil objected.

Lona was unyielding, though. "There is nothing for us here besides misery." She waved an arm over their tiny dwelling. "You didn't bring me a husband, so you can find me a future." She fixed Torquil with an adamant stare that would have been almost frightening if it was not from one so beautiful. "You owe me that."

There were protestations aplenty, but in the end Torquil stood no chance against Lona's resolve. She promised to meet them at daylight at the main gates, and she swore that hell would come to Torquil and his sons (and his sons' sons) if he left her behind.

At length they left Lona and Kela to prepare for the journey, and made their way back to the inn. Torquil left Titch to make his way up to the room by himself; they would need at least one extra horse, and he was going to try and arrange for one from the innkeeper madam.

Titch entered the tiny room on tiptoe, trying his best to be quiet. Oswyn was stretched out on one of the two beds and seemingly fast asleep, although he had left a single candle guttering near the window, presumably for his companions. By that faint light Titch could see that the other youth had left out blankets on both the chaise and the open bed.

Titch crawled onto the chaise, removed his boots and outer pants, and curled up beneath the blanket. Huddled thus beneath the coarse cloth, he thought about the turn their journey had taken here in Lameksis.

Despite Torquil's misgivings, he was glad that Lona and Kela would be coming with them. The journey so far had not been unpleasant, but he was looking forward to having more entertaining company (he missed Ergo terribly in this regard), as well as no longer being the youngest traveler on this quest. It occurred to him that he might be a boon to them, as well. Kela in particular seemed to desire someone on which to focus her boundless energy.

He considered writing more in his journal, but before he could focus on finding it from his belongings, he was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**III**

_The great red dragon opened her eyes, very slowly. Despite her size and strength, she was quite weak. She lifted her huge head and turned to look at the boy, and as she breathed her volcanic breath, a mammoth spume of smoke rose from her nostrils._

_"I am Behal, Queen of Dragons," she said._

_Her voice, kept silent for an age while her kin drove the races of Krull to fear, echoed through the chamber and the boy's head. And though he knew not why, seeing the great red dragon in her frailty made him weep._

_"I am Behal," she said again. "And I am dying. Have you come to save me?"_

_Though the boy had come to this vault of fires to free the races of Krull from the dragons' tyranny, he could not turn away from this creature in her wretchedness. "You have only to tell me how."_

"_What is the name of the child of Man that seeks to aid me?" The dragon asked._

_The boy looked into her eyes and found that such misery made him honest, and bold. "My name is Ahn," he said._

"_Ahn," she said, and the strength with which her voice said his name made the boy tremble with a deep awakening. As the great red dragon sighed deeply, and her tongue lolled from between sharp fangs, she seemed to smile. "You must give me your heart."_

* * *

The sun Chamides and its lesser twin Belidur had risen fully into the midday sky before the travelers made their way out of Lameksis.

Lona and Kela had indeed met them at the city gates as promised, but getting them equipped and mounted was another matter entirely. Women of nobility (like Queen Lyssa) knew how to ride because it was a useful skill for their station. And girls who were raised with horses as an occupational asset (like Zalinde) naturally were taught how to care for their charges. But women for whom mounts were both expensive and rare did not have much skill with riding. The entire dilemma only caused for more delays, and Oswyn was, frankly, becoming irritated by it all.

Colwyn had entrusted him with an important duty - to both guide and guard Torquil (it was still difficult for him to reconcile the former bandit leader with the position of Lord-Marshall) and the Seer apprentice - and he had every intention of fulfilling that duty to the best of his ability. But all of these additional stops, not to mention additional travelers, were making his duty difficult. Bad enough that Titch had his own problems controlling the timid Damma, now they were forced to slow their pace even more for Lona and her daughter. Torquil didn't seem very concerned with their limited progress as caused by the newcomers, although Oswyn had his own sneaking suspicions as to why that was.

It was frustrating for the outrider to drop Isthmene to an easy jog. She was both bred and trained to be swift, and as a pair they were unmatched in the kingdom. He had ridden her and her alone for over a year, and in that time he felt that he almost knew her as a person. She had her favors and fits (she loved taking apples from his hand, and she hated the marshland snakes), but he loved her dearly, certainly more than any horse before her. At times - mostly when he was out riding alone - he wondered if perhaps his skill was due more to Isthmene's prowess than to his own.

Preferring not to think about his own limitations, Oswyn glanced back at his straggling companions.

Torquil was riding Arno, and Lona on her mongrel rode nearly even with him. They were speaking in low tones, and occasionally one of them would chuckle or even laugh. Slightly behind them, Titch and Kela rode Damma at a leisurely trot, and the little girl giggled profusely at every minor distraction.

Oswyn sighed audibly.

Torquil was close enough to hear him. He nodded toward a cluster of trees. "Let's stop there, for a rest."

Oswyn shook his head. Torquil must be getting old, if he needed to rest so soon after starting out. Nevertheless, he directed Isthmene toward the trees, and she complied willingly.

The travelers dismounted, Torquil and Lona first, and then they helped Titch and Kela out of their saddle. Oswyn slid from his saddle last, moving almost noiselessly as he touched the ground.

Lona brought out some food from one of her large travel packs. Kela immediately set to munching on some fruit, and she passed some to Titch. Torquil declined, as did Oswyn.

As the children sat and ate, Lona turned to the outrider. "Thank you for letting us join you on this journey."

Oswyn merely shrugged. He didn't think it wise to tell her that he was not given much say in the matter. In point of fact, Torquil had not even mentioned Lona and Kela until after they had loaded up the horses that morning.

The woman pushed her hair away from her face and smiled at him. "They say that circumstance makes strange bedfellows."

"I'm certain it does," Oswyn replied, looking directly at Torquil.

The older man frowned but said nothing.

"I just don't want us to be a burden," the woman reiterated.

She seemed genuinely apologetic, and Oswyn's sympathy went out to her a little. This was not her quest; she had not been charged with a royal task. She sought only to find a better life for her and her daughter.

He briefly considered his own father - the man who had sold him and his young sister - as well as the former bandit leader who had become more of a father to him than his own sire, and he realized that it was actually quite thoughtful of Lona to take Kela and search for a new life. At least she was making an honest effort to keep them together.

Oswyn turned to the mount they had purchased for her in Lameksis. "We should find you a better horse than this one," he said softly; he was not accustomed to accepting apologies. "He won't keep up for long on those legs."

Lona's smile turned tentative. "That is very kind, but our resources are limited."

Torquil laid a hand on her shoulder, gently. "Whatever circumstance it was that led us to you, good or ill, you and Kela travel with us, now."

She nodded to both of them. "Thank you," she said again.

They rested for a short time, with Titch and Kela doing most of the talking, but then mounted up again. This time, as if sensing that perhaps the outrider was right, Torquil pushed for greater speed. They were not likely to find any lodgings in this high country, but it was good that they tried to gain some significant distance in their journey.

They made to sleep beneath the open stars, with Lona, Kela and Titch clustered beneath a makeshift lean-to, and Torquil and Oswyn trading watch. Torquil was fond of sharpening his axe by the firelight, but Oswyn usually preferred to sit with Isthmene.

"Strange circumstances, eh, girl?" He asked the horse, and she blew a snort that he took as an affirmative. He smiled, moving one hand over her neck. "Not sure if I like it better having to keep an eye on someone else, or being lonely all of the time."

Isthmene snorted again, shaking her powerful head.

Oswyn rubbed the space of forehead between her dark eyes. "I know," he said, keeping his voice to a whisper. "But you're quite different from a person. No talking back."

She blinked at him, and it was not the first time that Oswyn thought that she truly could understand what he was saying to her. They had spent many nights like this, sitting before a crackling campfire with nothing but black between them and the stars overhead. And every time he had ever posed a question to her, whether rhetorical or not, he could swear that she comprehended him. He supposed that that was why he tended to prefer her company over even the pretty (but mostly flighty) girls in the castle.

Zalinde, the girl who worked in the stables at the White Castle, had once caught him talking to Isthmene, and she had had no hesitation in telling him that she thought it was a little bit crazy.

"Don't you talk to your horses?" Oswyn had asked her, being unable to consider the alternative for one in her position.

"Yes," she had replied, almost blithely. "But I don't expect them to talk back to me."

Oswyn leaned against Isthmene's bare flank. He had removed her saddle for the night, a normally unwise decision (on a solo ride, he never knew when he might have to quickly mount up), but he was comfortable enough riding her bareback that he spent little energy worrying over it. And he liked to think that she enjoyed the freedom a little bit, as well. If she was content, she would give him no problems; more than once her mood had turned cantankerous because he had driven her too hard, or pushed her through the muck.

"These plains are easy," he whispered to Isthmene. "We should make good time tomorrow, even with a mongrel with us. And maybe we can find you some more apples, eh?"

She shook her head up and down, as if nodding, and Oswyn had to chuckle.

"Aye, that's a fine idea."

Oswyn craned his head up, to look at the stars. The sooner they made their way to Bellan, the sooner they would be able to return to the White Castle, and the sooner everything would be back to normal.

He settled in against her, rising and falling against the tempo of her breathing, and stayed that way until the dawn.

It was on the third day after they had left Lameksis that Lona's horse started to show signs of strain. The mongrel was a work horse, not a traveling one. He stumbled once, and it was several tries before she could get him up again. They slowed their progress some, allowing the older horse to set their speed. But he stumbled a second time, and he refused to stand again.

Torquil knelt next to the beast and shook his head. "His knee's given way."

"The poor thing," Lona crooned softly.

Torquil shrugged. "He'll survive, but he won't be able to carry anyone."

Oswyn brought Isthmene about. "We should leave him here. He'll just slow us down. And a horse with no rider does us no good."

"That sounds cruel," Titch said beneath his breath.

"It's practical," Torquil told the boy, before Oswyn could retort.

From up on Damma, Kela started to cry. "Mama, don't kill him!"

Lona fetched her daughter from Titch's saddle and held her to her bosom, bouncing her up and down in her arms. "There, there, now." She gave Torquil a helpless look.

Torquil glanced around at their surroundings. The Granite Mountains were far off to the north, and while the plains extended leagues in the other directions, they could use the mountains to gauge their location. "Where do you think we are, now?" He asked.

Oswyn made some brief judgments in his head. "Near Erameth, I think."

Torquil stood. "Yes, Erameth," he said, his tone indicating that he had known all along. He dusted off the knees of his pants. "I know a place we can go."

"What about the mongrel?" Oswyn asked as Torquil pulled himself into the saddle.

"We'll leave him here for now," the Lord-Marshall responded. "I know of a breeder not far from here."

Oswyn scoffed: "What breeder would want him?"

Torquil shook his head. "We can trade one horse for another."

Oswyn was not convinced the plan would work, but he had learned long ago to trust in Torquil, no matter how far-fetched his ideas might be. Torquil had chosen to follow Colwyn, after all.

"Will the three horses carry us all?" Lona asked, looking up at them.

Torquil shook his head again. "Not necessary. You and Kela stay here. Titch, you, too. Oswyn and I will return before nightfall."

"Is it safe for us to stay here alone?" Lona said, dropping her voice to no more above a whisper, presumably for the sake of the child in her arms.

"The most you have to fear are gnats and ants here. And Oswyn and I will return soon; fear not." He spurred Arno on and galloped away.

It was only a moment before Oswyn was beside him again. "Was that wise? You and I are the only ones armed."

Torquil grinned at some unspoken jest. "I meant what I said. We should have a new horse in no time. Then we'll be back on our way." He shot a glance at the younger man. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

Oswyn had no answer for that. He felt suddenly childish for acting so sullen through this journey. He thought about apologizing, but he could think of no adequate words, so he opted to ride on in silence.

True to Torquil's words, it was only a short time before they came upon a low-built dwelling house with a fair-sized stable to one side. There were two horses grazing in front of the stable doors, one a grey foal peppered with brown markings, and the other a charming marble mare.

"Beautiful," Oswyn remarked, gazing at the mare as they pulled up close to the stable. She was a strong and graceful animal; she could not compare to Isthmene, but she was the closest any horse had come that he had seen in a long time. Whoever this breeder or keeper was, he certainly knew his trade.

Torquil nodded. "You may get to try her out, yet," he muttered. He slid deftly from Arno's saddle, but motioned for Oswyn to stay mounted. He took a few steps toward the house, then called out, "Mirane?"

Oswyn looked from Torquil to the house, wondering if perhaps his leader had lost a few of his senses.

By the look on Torquil's face, it seemed like he was following the same trail of thought. But then they both spied movement in an upper window, and Torquil called out again, with distinctly more confidence this time: "Mirane!"

There was more movement in the window, and an arrow shot out and hit the ground in front of Torquil's feet.

Arno reared in shock, and even Isthmene whinnied and stamped her front hooves. Oswyn cast a worried glance at his leader. "Maybe this Mirane doesn't remember you."

Torquil frowned. "No," he muttered. "That's about the reception I was expecting."

"Are you absolutely sure this is wise?" Oswyn asked, with significantly more concern now. He fought to control both Arno and Isthmene at the same time.

Torquil raised both arms and shouted toward the hidden archer: "Mirane, please."

This time, they got a response. A young voice called, "Mirane is no longer here."

"We should leave," Oswyn suggested quickly. There was no point in overstaying a nonexistent welcome.

Torquil ignored him. "This is her father's land," he shouted up to the archer. "She would not leave it."

The archer replied: "My mother is dead these three years. This land is mine." The bow came almost fully into sight at the window, and there was definitely another arrow notched at the string.

"We really should leave," Oswyn said again. He was starting to get very nervous now, and his anxiety was affecting Isthmene, as well. She rose on her rear legs and stamped at the ground.

Torquil was not listening to his companion, though. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked strangely distracted. "Three years," he muttered. He cocked his head to one side. "Are you Jonnad?" He called.

The archer paused. "How do you know my brother?" He asked, a bit weakly now.

The look on Torquil's face could have been remorse or shock; Oswyn wasn't sure which. He called up, much less loud this time, "Ysen? Are you Ysen?"

This time, a face appeared at the window. It was that of a young boy, barely older than Titch, certainly younger than Oswyn. "How do you know my name?" He asked in a shaky voice.

Torquil smiled, but haltingly. He told the boy his name, and then added: "I am your father."

Oswyn felt almost as surprised as the young archer looked. He was aware that Torquil had children, he just never suspected that he would ever come face-to-face with one of them. Strangely enough, it felt threatening, in a way. Over the years, Oswyn had come to think of himself as a kind of surrogate son to the former bandit leader. To now be faced with a boy who could claim blood right to that title was intimidating.

The boy's face disappeared from the window, and Oswyn exchanged confused looks with Torquil. Then the front door to the house creaked open, and the boy stepped outside.

With his shortbow still beside him, this Ysen looked small, though not as small as Oswyn had at first thought. He also did not look quite as young as he had in the window. In fact, he looked to be about the same age that Oswyn had been when he had first met and joined Torquil - fourteen.

The boy came up to Torquil directly, all but ignoring Oswyn. He looked up into the older man's face, his head cocked to the side. He had Torquil's coloring, and the same dark, curling hair. He said, very quietly, "Father?"

Torquil nodded slowly.

Then the boy collapsed against him, throwing both of his arms about the Lord-Marshall's chest. "Oh, Father! It is you!"

Oswyn looked away, feeling ill at ease. It was his wish at that moment to be anywhere but here; not for the first time, he thought that he should have stayed with Titch, Lona, and Kela. He couldn't simply leave Torquil, though - that went against his every instinct both as a royally-appointed outrider and as a friend - so he cleared his throat in as nonchalant manner as he could muster.

Torquil looked round at Oswyn. He swallowed thickly, and managed a smile. He beckoned the boy forward. "Ysen, this is Oswyn. We were sent by King Colwyn."

The boy Ysen looked amazed. "The King? How do you know the King?"

Torquil seemed to consider the question for a long moment. Oswyn didn't blame him for pausing; how to answer such a question? It would be a wonderful thing to regale the boy with tales of their adventures against an enemy of Krull, and how they had quite literally saved the world. But Ysen might not believe it. Oswyn was rather certain that if his own father came to him with the same story, he would think his father a lunatic.

"I will tell you later," was Torquil's politic response. "For now, we require your help."

Ysen lifted his bow and his face beamed. "I've been practicing with my bow-!"

Oswyn could sympathize with the boy's enthusiasm. At that age, he had been only too eager to prove his prowess with a chosen weapon. (Except Oswyn's weapon of choice had not been a bow, but a sturdy quarterstaff. He wondered absently whatever had become of it. He remembered having it upon leaving the treacherous swamps of the Wyn'Nah Mabrug...)

"Not that kind of help," Torquil said, breaking Oswyn from his reverie. "We need a steed. A strong, capable one."

Ysen looked nonplussed. Still, he told them slowly, "Biro is our finest stallion. But he isn't here." He pointed to the marble mare snuffling in the high grass beside the stable. "Alraune is a fine mount, though."

Torquil nodded. "Good enough." He strode toward the gate of the stable fence.

Ysen followed on his heels. "Wait. Father!"

And here it is, Oswyn thought.

Ysen put a slim hand on Torquil's thick arm, halting him in mid-step. "Can't you stay? You've been gone so long. We never even dreamed that you would return, yet here you are. And now you simply want to leave?"

Oswyn was actually surprised that there was not more anger in the boy. He was confused and disappointed, that much was obvious; but there was very little in the way of the fury that he would have expected at such a meeting. Perhaps some sons were more forgiving than others...

Torquil looked the boy up and down. Then he smiled, that familiar, shrewd smile that Oswyn had come to know so very well. "Our companions are waiting for us. If it's all right with you, we could bring them here, and stay for the night."

A smile broke over Ysen's face once more. "I can prepare a meal! I'm a good cook - everyone says so."

"That's a fine idea," Torquil told him, and gave him a hearty clap on the back. "We'll return soon, all right?"

Ysen nodded vigorously. He opened the fence gate for Torquil and led Alraune over to the entrance. She wasn't saddled, but Ysen ran to the stable doors and came back with a simple harness, which he slipped over her head. "She's very docile," he explained. "I'm certain you could ride her with no trouble, Father, and your companions could take your other horse."

Torquil lifted himself onto the mare's back and patted her neck. "She is obedient," he agreed. He smiled down at the boy. "We'll return soon," he repeated. "I promise."

As Torquil led Alraune toward Oswyn and the other horses, Ysen watched them from the gate. He closed it on the lone foal, and then retreated to the house, where he waved briskly at them.

"Was I ever so eager to please?" Oswyn asked Torquil beneath his breath as they started off at a gallop.

"I almost miss those days," the Lord-Marshall muttered.

* * *

It was a much less difficult matter to get Lona and Kela mounted again (this time on Arno) than they had anticipated. Torquil, once again on Alraune, led the mongrel at a slow trot back to the house where Ysen was undoubtedly waiting.

Titch was immediately intrigued by the idea of Torquil's having a son. He asked Oswyn many questions about him (How old was he? Was he friendly? Were there other children?), but Oswyn found it difficult to give any kind of definite answers, so he simply remained silent. Titch didn't seem to take offense, though; rather, he merely speculated aloud as to what interesting information Ysen might hold.

As they approached the house for the second time, they noticed that the fenced area around the stable was now populated by three horses: an excited white colt (one of Alraune's, perhaps?) and a majestic black stallion, in addition to the young foal.

Torquil raised a hand for them to come to a stop. He slid from Alraune's back and approached the house cautiously. "Ysen?" He called out.

The door to the house swung open, but it was not Ysen who met them. A slim soldier - still in light riding armor and helmet - stalked out toward them. He had a spear slung across his back, which he unhooked with one smooth motion. As he came nearer to Torquil, he broke into a quick running step, the head of the spear pointed low to the ground. He let out a high-pitched yell, which caused both the gated foal and colt to stomp and the stallion to start nickering.

Torquil held his ground.

Oswyn wasn't so collected, though. Without hesitation, he kicked Isthmene into a gallop and drew his sword. He turned the mare about between the spearman and Torquil, his thighs tightening about Isthmene's ribs as she came up in an imposing rear.

The spearman was neither impressed nor feared. He plunged his weapon into the earth at his feet, then grabbed Oswyn by the leg and pulled him right from Isthmene's back.

Unseated thus, the outrider - sword still in hand - nonetheless kept himself between the Lord-Marshall and their helmeted opponent. He did not brandish the weapon, but he did not turn it aside, either. "Stand down, knave," he murmured in a low voice.

Torquil put a hand on Oswyn's shoulder, and spoke to the spearman. "Jonnad..."

"Father?"

Everyone but the spearman looked toward the source of the voice: a dark-haired young man of about seventeen years, standing near to the doorway of the house, with Ysen beside him. While all of the travelers were distracted by the newcomer, only Torquil looked truly surprised. He turned to stare at the spearman, who promptly punched the Lord-Marshall squarely in the jaw.

Oswyn quickly shoved the soldier to the ground, silently cursing himself for leaving his guard down and letting this brash combatant get in the first hit. This time he made it quite clear that his sword was not for show: he pushed it threateningly into the fleshy space between breastplate and helmet. "Try that again," he said, in an effort to provoke the spearman. He wanted to see just how fast this fool was.

Torquil gave neither of them the chance to act. He got to his feet, as Lona dropped from her saddle and came up beside him, in an attempt to examine the damage. He steered her aside, and approached the prone soldier, though cautiously. He took hold of Oswyn's arm and pushed the sword away. Then he extended his hand, in an offer to help the spearman to his feet.

Ysen and Jonnad came up toward them then, and helped the spearman up. There was no dusting off of armor; the soldier looked straight at Torquil, his gaze never wavering. Finally, he swung his arm out, batting Torquil's hand away with a leathered fist.

"Spare me your pity," the soldier said, and Oswyn actually felt his control slacken. This was no warrior who spoke; it was a girl. More precisely, she was a young woman, evidenced when she pulled off her helmet and spat at Torquil's feet. Then she turned on her heel and headed back into the house, leaving the others to stare after her.

The girl's name was Nirien, and they learned at dinner that she was Torquil's eldest. Not from her (she refused to sit at the same table as her father), but from her brothers, who were only too eager to spend time with Torquil. In fact, only Nirien seemed to bear the Lord-Marshall any ill will at all.

"She gets that way sometimes," Ysen offered as an excuse as he brought more bread out to the table. "She has missed you, Father, truly. I know it does not seem so, but she has."

"We all have," Jonnad added.

Torquil tore at a piece of hard crust and dipped it in the broth that Ysen had supplied for their supper. "Nirien always was stubborn," he murmured.

Jonnad smiled softly. "Mother always said she was much like you."

That made Torquil chuckle. He glanced up at both his sons. "What happened to your mother?"

Jonnad glanced uneasily at Ysen, then replied: "We're not certain. There were rumors, in town, of roaming bandits." There was something about the way that he shaded his eyes when he spoke that intimated that this was not the entire truth.

Oswyn watched the elder son shift beneath the weight of Torquil's inquiring gaze. He had lied enough times in his life to recognize the signs in someone else. There was something left unsaid, but he decided not to press the issue. It was not his place. Instead, he returned his attention to the last scraps of his dinner. But he made sure to keep one ear trained to the conversation.

Titch was paying close attention, as well. He was leaned forward against the table, his eyes darting back and forth from one of the sons to the other. He also kept glancing up the narrow, ladder-like stairs to the second floor, to where Nirien had escaped over an hour earlier.

Lona sat with Kela in her lap; the little girl was wary around these strangers, perhaps because they were so much older than she. Kela had really seemed to form an attachment only to Titch, whether because he honestly liked her or some other reason was unclear.

Torquil sighed. "I was going to return; it was simply never the right time."

Now Oswyn looked up in surprise. He never thought that he would hear Torquil lie so blatantly - certainly not under circumstances such as these - yet there it was.

Neither Ysen nor Jonnad noticed, though. Or, if they did, they did not make it known. Rather, their gazes were filled with such unconditional love that it made Oswyn physically uncomfortable.

The outrider stood up from the table and excused himself. "I'd like to check on the horses," he croaked, and fairly bolted outside. Once in the open air, he felt a clutching at his throat the likes of which he had never experienced before. He had caught Torquil in a lie, to his own children, and it made him sick in his heart to think what else his leader may have lied about in the past.

How many times, on countless jobs, had Torquil told him and anyone who was in earshot that a rogue's life was the only life, that simple domesticity was a bane to any man worth the steel in his sword? Had he been lying then? Or was he lying now?

Thinking about it made Oswyn's head pound. He sought the basic unfussiness of the rider's world. He made his way around to the stable, and he was surprised to find the doors half-open.

He stepped inside the stable, his hand resting on his sword hilt, but there was no immediate sign of anything wrong. Isthmene, locked safely in a pen, snorted at him as he came near.

"She's a beauty," Nirien said to him from not that far away.

Oswyn relaxed. He peered down the aisle of pens, and the girl nodded at him (or, more precisely, at Isthmene) from her place next to the onyx-colored stallion.

"Her name is Isthmene," he offered softly. He opened her pen and stepped inside, quietly impressed by the impeccable state of the holding area; they would have put Ibren's royal stables to shame. He laid a hand on her flank, and she swung her head toward him, inviting a grooming. "How did you get in here?" He asked, honestly curious. They had been eating right by the stairs, and they had not seen her pass.

Nirien moved her hand up and down the stallion's thick neck. "I have my ways."

Oswyn shrugged; he was familiar with the need to have some secrets. "What's his name?" He asked, changing the subject. He bent his head toward her stallion.

Nirien smiled as she gazed at the horse. "Biro," she replied.

Oswyn smiled, too. "He's very impressive."

She nodded in agreement. "Thank you." She grinned. "You shouldn't let him get too close to your mare, though. Once he sets his sights on something, he isn't easily dissuaded."

"I can understand that," he said, giving a soft chuckle.

Nirien looked over at the chestnut mare again. "Isthmene, eh? That's an odd name. Doesn't slip easily off the tongue."

Oswyn rubbed the space between the mare's eyes with his fingertips. He had almost forgotten just why he had renamed her Isthmene in the first place. "There was a man," he said softly, "who used to ride with us. He used to tell me these stories. He said that he loved the daughter of a nobleman, and her name was Isthmene. He was not of noble blood, though, so he was exiled for loving her. He used to name his horses after her. I suppose that, in some small way, he did it so that he would always be reminded of her."

Telling the details made him feel a bit like he was a little boy recounting a favorite bedtime story. But then he considered that a large part of his memorable childhood had been spent with Torquil and the other thieves, so the tale was akin to a bedtime story, of sorts. He shrugged again, self-consciously. "I just thought the name was pretty," he said, honestly enough.

Nirien had stopped grooming Biro and was gazing at him from over the stall's interior wall, her hands resting beneath her chin. "You know, most animals are given names by their owners when they're born."

He smiled. "The castle stable master didn't seem to mind me giving her a new name." He patted the mare's neck, which was noticeably more slender than Biro's but still prettier than the stallion's, in his opinion. "And I think she likes it." The horse snorted again in a kind of equine nod, giving weight to his words.

Nirien smiled ruefully. "No, I was talking about your friend."

Oswyn glanced back at her. "Well, we were not often in the position to speak with a horse's owner before taking possession."

"So you're a thief," she ventured.

He shrugged; her assessment was not untrue. "Certain events did lead me down that path, for a time."

Nirien only hummed in response. She returned to grooming the stallion.

"I didn't steal except to survive," he said in his own defense.

She snorted derisively. Gods, how like Torquil she was!

"It's true!" Oswyn told her.

Nirien looked him squarely in the eyes. "You needn't make excuses to me. Your path is your choice. Your life is your own." Then she went back to brushing Biro's powerful neck.

She was right, of course, but it still embarrassed him to admit that he had ever been a thief at all. He didn't know why he was making excuses, let alone to a girl he did not even know. He hadn't been - he wasn't - like other, common thieves. He had enjoyed the allure of gold as much as any thief, that was true; but that part of his life was like a dream long lost to waking now. His life was filled with more important - more honest - duties: to his King, to his Queen, to his friends.

He wanted to make her understand that, though he could not at the moment articulate a reason as to why.

Oswyn didn't enjoy feeling vulnerable, least of all to this girl, so he countered her line of attack. "Why do you hate Torquil so much?"

Nirien stopped in mid-brush. When she looked at him again, it was as if a fire had ignited in her breast, and she was fighting to keep it within her, to prevent it from burning everything about her. "Because we mean nothing to him."

Oswyn was about to protest, but at the last moment he opted to keep his mouth shut. He was well aware of how difficult it was to dissuade a child's opinion of his parent. His sister Pran had many times tried to make him let go of his anger toward their own father, with little success. She had told him more than once that his hatred would change nothing now; it was better to let the past remain in the past, and move forward with what fortune they had. But Oswyn had trouble forgiving even the memory of his father. The wounds and pain ran too deeply.

The girl continued to groom Biro, but she also continued speaking. "He was a soldier once. Did you know that?"

Oswyn shook his head mutely. Torquil had never told him much of anything of his past.

"A good one. My spear belonged to my mother's father. But the armor was Torquil's."

Oswyn found it strange how she always referred to Torquil by name, and never "Father." She did not even grant him that cursory level of kinship.

Nirien looked off into the distance past the walls of the stable, lost in her own reverie. "He used to come riding up on a glorious armored stallion. And I remember the way the light used to catch his helmet as he rode. He was like some great, shining god." She smiled, and her eyes actually began to tear. "I loved him then," she muttered.

He felt his heart go out to her a little. There was a part of her that loved Torquil still, that much even he could see. It was buried, perhaps, beneath years of cynicism and heartbreak, but it was there. He knew this because it was the same deep within his own heart.

She stopped, and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "But he left us," she sniffed. "Jonnad and Ysen don't remember, but I do. He left us - for a nobleman's golden armory. I'd rather he died on some nameless battlefield. It would have spared us the shame." She tossed the brush in her hand to the floor of the stable, her anger having been sated only a little by the telling of the story.

Nirien looked up again, to find Oswyn still gazing at her. She sighed and smiled. "So is it true? That you serve the new King?"

He nodded.

"And why did you come here, really?" She asked, stepping out of Biro's pen and into the aisle.

He shrugged. "We needed a good horse."

Nirien shook her head. If her dark hair had been longer, he was certain that it would have bounced in curly ringlets against her face, much like the Queen's often did. "No," she said. "Why did -you- come -here- now?"

Oswyn glanced away. He laid a hand against Isthmene's neck and patted her gently. "Isthmene is not usually at ease in a strange place." He smiled. "Neither am I. Open air is one thing; a stranger's home is altogether different."

She had come to Isthmene's pen and draped one arm over the gate. The other she used to prop up her chin. "She'll be fine. But if you would like to stay out here with her, I can arrange it." At his quizzical look, she told him with a sly smile, "I sometimes sleep out here, myself."

He nodded to her. "I would appreciate that."

Nirien chuckled and stepped away to the other end of the stable. From one of the empty pens she pulled a clump of blankets. "The others won't miss you?" She asked as she started to walk back to him.

Oswyn met her half-way, his arms open to take her burden. "To be honest, I wonder if they've even noticed I'm gone."

She gave him half the stack of blankets, keeping the other half for herself. She sat down in the empty pen across from Isthmene and tossed one of the blankets across her legs. The others she fluffed beneath her as a makeshift mattress and pillow. She drew her legs close to her chest and wrapped her arms about them, so that she could rest her chin on her knees. "I think you would not be on this journey if your talents were not valued," she said, watching him carefully.

He sat down next to her, dropping most of his own blankets onto the pile of coarse, sweet-smelling hay; the last he tossed over one shoulder like a noble's cape. He shook his head at her assessment. "Anyone can swing a sword, or ride a horse."

Nirien disagreed. "Not anyone," she said. "Ysen can barely stay upright on a foal standing still."

Oswyn laughed, thinking of their first day away from the castle. "Titch isn't very good on a horse, either."

"And I can't wield a sword to save my life," she said with a self-mocking grin.

He grinned back at her. "I'm sure, to save your life, you could. You almost disarmed me today."

Nirien averted her eyes. "I am sorry. You didn't deserve that."

He picked up a clump of straw and watched as it fell through his fingers. "You didn't deserve a blade to your throat, either."

She laughed. "No, that I did deserve. You were doing your duty and I got in the way."

Oswyn tilted his head, eyes still downcast. "Still, I hate to think what would have happened if-" He couldn't bring himself to continue; the thought was too gruesome. When he finally looked back at her, she was leaning quite close to him.

"Do you mean that?" She asked very softly. "Or are you simply trying to beguile me?"

He sat back from her, feigning more shock than he actually felt. "What?" He shook his head. "No, no." He gave her a brief once-over, and felt a smile creep over his lips. "Unless, of course, it happens to be working."

Nirien laughed quietly. She closed her eyes in thoughtful silence, then looked over at him, leaning even closer this time. "It's not," she said, but with such a sweetness that he could not be certain as to her resolve, until she turned away from him and settled into her improvised bed. "But you never know when it will," she added, and pulled her blanket up over her shoulder.

"What does that mean?" Oswyn asked to her back. "Nirien?"

"Sleep well, fair knight." She said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Nirien!" He prodded, but she had ceased to acknowledge him. At length he settled down close to her, turning on his side away from her so that he wasn't distracted by the curve of her ear or the slope of her shoulder. But he could still hear the steady sound of her breathing behind him, and as he began to drowse, he thought of how sweet it would be to feel a girl's breath on his neck again.

It was not the light of morning - nor the sweet, warm breath he had hoped for - that woke him, but the sound of thunder.

Oswyn half-started up, and his hand went immediately for his sword. There was a short moment of panic when he couldn't find it, until he recalled that he had taken off his sword belt right before he had gone to sleep. He reached out and grasped the familiar hilt, just to make sure that it was indeed beside him.

In the stall directly across, Isthmene whinnied at the sight of her master. It was typically marish that she did not like storms, but the added anxiety of being essentially locked up in a strange place made her more temperamental than usual.

Oswyn made to stand, only just then realizing that Nirien had rolled close to him in her sleep. He extricated himself from her drowsy embrace and very quietly made his way over to Isthmene's stall.

He reached out to rub his palm over the mare's forehead. "Easy, girl," he murmured soothingly. "Nothing to worry about. Just a passing storm."

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked a second time. Isthmene snorted and shook her head, and Oswyn shushed her. Her eyes were darting, and she was overly frantic. He eased open her gate just wide enough to squeeze through, then put his hands up near her eyes, using his palms as blinders.

"Easy there," he said again. "Easy." He tried to get her to focus on him, but she bucked and stamped her hooves as a third storm clap came. "Isthmene, what's wrong?" By instinct, he turned to look around them, when he caught a flash of silver from behind.

Torquil was there, alone, his hair and clothes dripping with rainwater. The last lightning flash had flared against the metal studs in his vest, which was what had agitated the horse.

"You startled me," Oswyn said with a chuckle.

Torquil blew a sharp breath, sending a drop of water from his nose. "So this is where you've been."

Oswyn took the gruffness for concern and dismissed it. "I came out to check on the horses and I...dozed off."

Torquil glanced pointedly at the pen across from Isthmene's, where Nirien was only now coming to her waking senses. "So I can see."

Oswyn followed the line of Torquil's glance and then looked back at the Lord-Marshall. "I didn't-" he started to say.

Torquil put up a hand to silence him. "You should get inside. This storm looks serious." He half-turned to Nirien as she stood up. "That goes for both of you."

"We are inside," the girl said with a distinct air of defiance.

Oswyn gave her a pained look. He did not wish to pay witness to this particular battle of wills between daughter and father, especially now.

Torquil sighed heavily. "Your brothers are concerned," he told her. "Get back to the house, now. Please."

Speechless, Nirien rubbed her hands over her arms. She obviously had not expected Torquil to ask her, for anything. She gave a brief nod and then made a running dash for the house.

Oswyn started to follow her, but Torquil stopped him with a hand on his chest. "A word?"

The outrider flinched. True, he and Nirien had been together, but not in the sense that Torquil likely suspected. "I swear, Torquil, I did not-"

The Lord-Marshall silenced him with a look. He glanced around the stables. "Which of these horses is the best?" Expecting his guard's first response, he added: "Besides yours, I mean."

Oswyn shrugged, stupefied at the simplicity of the question; it was not the one he had been expecting. "The stallion, I'd wager."

Torquil nodded. "Good. That's the one we'll take when we leave." And he turned toward the door.

This time it was Oswyn who stopped their stride. "Wait! Torquil, that's Nirien's horse. She won't simply let you take him."

"What kind of conceit is this?" Torquil said, just barely suppressing a humorless laugh. "You propose to know my own daughter better than I do?"

"In this matter, yes, I do."

A look of malice flashed in Torquil's eyes that Oswyn had never seen directed at him before. It both startled and frightened the young man. "Do not oppose me, lad."

"Well, I-I don't mean to oppose," Oswyn stammered, struggling to find the right words that would not anger Torquil further. When nothing persuasive came to his hesitant tongue, he simply blurted: "But you cannot take him from her! I...I cannot allow that."

Torquil raised an eyebrow at him. He said, very slowly, "This new life of yours has made you bold and outspoken, Oswyn. I'm not certain I like it." Then he turned and made his way back to the house.

Left to himself, Oswyn let go a deep breath. He unclenched his fists haltingly; he had tightened them before, because his hands had been shaking and he did not want Torquil to see. He had never openly challenged his leader before, and it was not a sensation he relished. But as he looked up at Isthmene - into her trusting, dark gaze - he knew that he had made the right decision. Or, at the least, he hoped as much.


	4. Chapter 4

**IV**

_The boy Ahn asked the red dragon: "What do you want with my heart?"_

_Behal peeled back her ebony lips from her ivory teeth. "A dragon's heart must burn hot. Mine has gone cold."_

_"If I give you my heart, you will not be the same. You will be a dragon with a human heart." The thought intrigued the boy, but it also frightened him._

_Behal's words were no less comforting. "You, too, would not be the same." Her eyes narrowed. "We are lesser apart. But together," and here the slits in her eyes widened until they were nearly as large as the boy's head, "together, we would be inexorable."_

_Faced with such power, Ahn had little choice._

_He stepped forward, and in her great and beautiful fury, Behal devoured him._

* * *

The storm lasted longer than any of them had anticipated. With no recourse but to stay indoors during the downpour (travel was out of the question), each of the residents and travelers made him or herself busy with chores. Even Kela was helpful, mixing and mashing ingredients for meals and food storage, or cleaning dishes and tables with a blue cloth that Ysen provided specially for her little hands.

The three youngest children - Ysen, Titch, and Kela - were bonding quickly. After only a day in each other's presence, they had fallen into familiar roles of bossy eldest, know-it-all middle child, and attention-hound baby.

The company of other children close to his own age had wrought a marked change in Titch, in particular. Gone was the shy, self-assuming boy. He had been replaced by a talkative, boisterous co-conspirator for his mates.

Under normal circumstances, such a metamorphosis in Titch would have annoyed Oswyn, but he found his attentions preoccupied with watching the drama unfold between Torquil and Nirien.

At first, the two of them avoided each other. But in a dwelling as small as this - its size problems compounded by the addition of several other bodies - they were forced to interact sooner rather than later. Their first confrontation (but by no means their last) came when Ysen started to clear away the dishes from breakfast.

Titch and Kela got up to help, and the trio of children immediately started yammering together. Nirien stood, as well, but she went to the door and grabbed a long cloak from one of the hooks there.

Torquil squinted at her. "You're not going to help your brother? Where's your sense of duty?"

Nirien turned back to him. "I care for the horses, not the dishes."

"-That's- your duty?" Torquil asked, incredulous.

Jonnad intervened. "That's what she's good at, Father." By the tone in his voice, he obviously did not savor the idea of his father and sister constantly at each other's throats. He stood up and handed his dish to Kela, who had come pattering over on her bare feet.

Lona immediately scolded the girl and told her to put some shoes on, or at least bind her feet in some way. Torquil turned to smile at the mother and child, and Nirien took the opportunity to leave through the door.

Jonnad shook his head wearily at his sister's back. He set both hands on the table and craned his head to look at Oswyn. "How are you with an axe?"

"Skilled enough to split wood, if that's what you're asking."

Jonnad smiled. "Good. Come on. I can use some help." He looked meaningfully at Torquil. "And some fresh air."

Oswyn followed Jonnad around to the rear of the house. The roof extended far off the back of the house, leaving an area about the size of a small room protected from the direct force of the elements. Here was a wood-chopping stand, a tall pile of uncut wood, and a small collection of tools, along with a well-used firepit and a large tub, presumably for laundry and bathing. Oswyn could also see that the roof's edge abutted an upper window of the stable building: Nirien's secret pathway.

Jonnad felt along the topmost wood pieces and selected a few that were suitably dry enough for use. He put one on the stand and motioned for Oswyn to hand him the axe. "There's just the one," he explained, "but I could use the company. And it was getting stifling in there with Father and Nirien." He swung the axe hard and buried it halfway into the wood.

Oswyn leaned against the tub as he watched the other boy at work. He could sympathize with the sentiments expressed. "She really doesn't like him, does she?"

Jonnad pulled the axe head free and took another swing. "She's angry at him." As it drove home, splitting the wood in two, he stopped thoughtfully. "I am, as well." He shrugged, and passed the split pieces to Oswyn. "But blaming our father for what happened won't change anything."

At another prompting, Oswyn handed over a second log. "She blames him for leaving," he muttered.

Jonnad was about to swing again when he looked up. He shook his head definitively. "No. She blames him for our mother."

Oswyn cocked his head. "How can that be?"

The other young man blew a long breath. He stepped toward Oswyn, so that he could speak in a whisper. "Ysen does not know this; we never told him. But our mother was killed by hunters looking for our father."

Sobered by this news, Oswyn nonetheless asked: "You know this for certain?"

Jonnad bowed his head. "They told us." He pulled up the bottom of his jerkin, to show a long scar beneath his ribs. He touched the puckered flesh with his fingertips. "This, they left to me. Nirien, she..." He shook his head, a look of revulsion on his normally serene features. "I don't like to think about it."

Oswyn bit back a curse. He was not the most imaginative man, he knew, but he could interpret Jonnad's expression adequately enough. During his time in the prisons of Greygate and in his adventures with Torquil, he had seen and heard enough of atrocities committed against both women and men that he did not need the other youth to explain.

"You cannot tell anyone, though," Jonnad commanded. He replaced his jerkin and took a quick glance around. Then, amid the fallen silence, he went back to the wood stand and resumed the chore of chopping.

Oswyn nodded, although slowly. Jonnad's part of the story explained a little bit more just why Nirien had such rage toward Torquil. In his however many short days alive, he had been a thief, a bandit, a warrior, and an outrider...but he could never imagine himself capable of the malicious mayhem that Jonnad had described. That took a particular kind of monster.

Jonnad finished splitting a third log, then passed the axe to Oswyn. While they worked, the two of them chatted about more mundane things - swords, horses, and of course pretty girls. It felt nice to have someone closer to his own age to talk to, and Oswyn started to understand why Titch had become so fond so quickly of Kela and Ysen.

Jonnad was in the middle of telling him about one of the more flirtatious shop-girls in nearby Erameth, when Ysen poked his head outside, to see how they were doing.

"You've hardly done anything," the youngest son admonished.

Jonnad put one hand on his hip. "I'd like to see you swing this axe." He pointed to the stack of split firewood and kindling. "I think we have enough, for now."

Ysen looked at the wood and shrugged. He sat down on top of the pile and brought his knees up, watching the rain fall beyond the edge of the roof. "What were you talking about?"

"Themide," Jonnad replied, invoking the name of his would-be sweetheart with a wistful smile, and Oswyn grinned.

Ysen made a face. "I don't see that she's so pretty. Even Nirien's prettier than she is." He turned to Oswyn. "Don't you think so?"

Oswyn felt suddenly discomfited. "Um, well..." He hoped that he didn't appear as embarrassed as he felt, although he could already sense the self-conscious blush rising into his face.

Jonnad offered him a sympathetic smile. "You don't have to answer that."

"I think that Lona's pretty," Ysen declared with a slightly dreamy sigh.

Oswyn nodded. "You aren't the only one to think so, I'm sure."

Jonnad set the axe aside and gave his little brother a push, so that they could collect the firewood. "You speak of our father," he said knowingly.

Oswyn felt like protesting, but he could only recall how unwavering Torquil had been when they had left Lameksis with Lona and Kela. "I don't profess to know anyone else's thoughts," he said finally, deciding to err on the side of discretion.

Ysen accepted an armful of wood from his brother. "Is that why Nirien doesn't like Lona? Because Father does?"

Oswyn chuckled. "Does your sister like anyone?"

Jonnad and Ysen exchanged glances, and then the younger brother shrugged again. Jonnad told the younger boy, "I don't think it's a case of Nirien not liking Lona. She's just preoccupied with Father."

The three of them entered the house, each carrying an armload of wood. They started to make their way into the main room, but they stopped at the doorway as they heard Torquil's and Nirien's voices raised in an argument. Ysen put down his load and gave the other boys a look that said, I'm sorry I almost missed this.

"You have no right to take him," Nirien was saying, "as if he were your own."

"He's the best horse you have," Torquil replied, and Oswyn realized that they must have been talking about Biro. "We won't be gone more than a few weeks. Just to Bellan and back again."

"That's leagues from here!"

Torquil again: "What am I supposed to do? We have but three good horses between the five of us. I may not be a scholar, but even I know that those numbers don't match."

And so Nirien: "So I have to pay the price for your decisions. That sounds familiar."

"What are you going on about?"

Jonnad pushed past the other two boys and stepped between his sister and father. "Stop." He turned to Nirien and spoke in a low voice: "This is our father. We still have a duty to him." He turned around and looked at Torquil now. "You can take Biro."

Nirien looked as though she could have strangled her brother. "What?!"

Jonnad did not look back at his sister, but continued: "On the condition that Nirien goes with you."

Now it was Torquil's turn to object. "What?"

"Biro won't let anyone else ride him," Jonnad offered as an excuse.

Torquil shook his head. "I just need the horse, not the rider. I'll take a different one, if I have to."

Lona, who had up until now been standing silently near the stairs, approached them. "You won't have to." All eyes turned to her, but she did not flinch. "I would stay here," she said, eying Jonnad, "if you would have me. At least, until Torquil's return." She wrung her thin hands in the apron around her waist; in the short time that they had been in the house, she had taken to domesticity as if it were a pair of well-worn shoes. "A home is safer and more reliable a place for Kela than the open road. And I must admit to enjoying the feeling of being needed."

Jonnad returned her smile. "Of course you are welcome to stay."

Torquil's expression was one of disappointment, but also one of understanding. He nodded. "If that is what you wish." He turned back to Nirien and Jonnad. "Provided the rain finally stops, Oswyn, Titch and I will be on our way at daybreak."

"With Nirien," Lona added.

"Eh?" Torquil looked more puzzled than before. Even Nirien seemed genuinely confused.

Lona went and stood beside Torquil. "A daughter will keep you honest, I think. And while I'm confident that Titch can keep you on your path and Oswyn can keep you safe, I believe only Nirien would be able to bring you back to us." She turned to Torquil's daughter. "If you would do this for me, I would be grateful."

Nirien sent glances at both of her brothers, and Oswyn could see that she was reluctant to agree. "You will look after them?" She asked the other woman, indicating her brothers.

Lona smiled. "If you will look after them," she replied, meaning Torquil and, by association, Oswyn and Titch.

Nirien's gaze passed over the room, and she looked up to the top of the stairs. Oswyn looked that way, too, to see Titch sitting there with Kela in front of him, so that they both could watch what was happening with an unobstructed view. He wondered if Nirien had done that same thing with one or another of her brothers, because when he looked back at her, a guarded smile was on her face. Then she turned her eyes to him, holding his gaze for a long moment.

"I would follow you," Nirien said in a hushed voice.

She had been presumably speaking to Torquil, but she was still looking at Oswyn. It was only when she looked away - back to her father - that Oswyn realized he had been holding his breath.

Torquil seemed unaware of the exchange between his daughter and his guard. His expression went from flabbergasted, to embarrassed, and finally to resigned, all in the space of a few moments. He gave Lona a wry smile. "One woman I can argue with, perhaps. I know better than to resist two."

Lona chuckled and leaned in toward Torquil, to kiss him lightly on the cheek. "How very wise," she praised.

Kela came pit-patting down the stairs and went to her mother. "Mama! Is this our new home?"

Lona laughed and scooped the girl up into her arms.

"It is for as long as you would like it to be," Jonnad told both of them with a grin. He was about to turn to his sister when she went for the door again. "Nirien..."

Nirien gave her brother a slightly distracted look. "There are preparations to be made. I'll return shortly; don't worry." Then she drew her hood around her face and headed outside to the stables again.

Torquil watched his daughter retreat, then turned to Titch and Oswyn. "She's right. Make sure your gear is ready. We don't want to waste time in the morning." Both boys nodded and headed up the stairs to the small sleeping rooms, Oswyn just a few steps behind Titch.

"I'm going to miss Lona and Kela," Titch remarked as he knelt next to his satchel. He looked about for something, finally settling on the little book next to the sleeping roll he had been using.

Oswyn kicked through some scattered blankets until he found his high, heavy leather riding boots; he had been wearing just a pair of tanned buckskin booties for walking around and about the house. As much as he relished the idea of riding, he didn't look forward to putting on his heavier battle livery again. "They'll be more comfortable here. And we'll make better time with an experienced rider."

"You don't seem as bothered with Nirien joining us than you did with Lona and Kela," Titch remarked.

Oswyn paused in collecting his things to send the younger boy a harsh glare, but it was lost on Titch, who didn't even bother to look up. So he said, "Nirien's only one. And she's not a babe." He looked around again; now, where was his mantle?

Titch sat back on his haunches thoughtfully. "Do you think that Lona and Kela will stay here, instead of returning with us to the castle?"

"I don't know," Oswyn replied, still distracted by his missing armor.

"I hope they come with us." He paused. "Maybe Nirien would come back with us, as well, and Jonnad and Ysen."

"Maybe," Oswyn said, not really paying attention. He finally spotted the shoulder carapace and set it aside, next to his boots. Usually, he kept his things in reasonably tight order, but his thoughts had been scattered since they had arrived.

He had thought, at first, that his mental lapses were due to the presence of Lona and her daughter; he was not accustomed to being in the company of a mother and her young child. Women in general were not a common occurrence on his travels. In truth - with the exception of a sister that he barely knew anymore - he had very little exposure to them outside of the castle walls (inside the castle walls, he often felt he had too much exposure to them, admittedly partly his own fault). But Titch's offhanded suggestion that Nirien might return with them to the White Castle had him nearly in a state of panic, over a woman, no less.

He felt an acute attraction to her, to be sure, but he had been attracted to other women in the past. The difference here was that he actually worried whether she reciprocated those feelings. And, no matter how hard she may have tried to deny it, she was Torquil's daughter. It would not be as simple to woo her as his usual conquests. He would have to be bold, yet charismatic, and articulate. Unfortunately, he was only one of those things.

Titch was putting his maps back into his satchel; he had taken them out to show Ysen and Kela the night before, so they could have a better understanding of where their quest was taking them. "At least they would provide for more interesting dialogue," he muttered beneath his breath.

A plan (not a very good one, but the best he could do on short notice) came to Oswyn's mind. "Titch." He dropped to his knees in front of the other boy. "I need your help."

Titch looked almost alarmed by this sudden change in the outrider's behavior. "What is it?"

"You can write," Oswyn said with hesitation. "Better than I can. I need you to write something for me."

Titch looked dubious, but he reached dutifully for his little paper journal and his writing quill. "Write what?"

"A letter."

"No, I mean, what is it that you want me to write? What do you want the letter to say?"

Oswyn faltered. He looked around, but all he could see was the wall behind Titch's head, which was as blank as his brain at the moment. "Something pretty. Fitting for a girl."

Titch gave him a blank look. "Just any girl, or one in particular?"

"Don't be difficult."

"I'm not!" He set the paper down in his lap and explained, "Every girl - every person - is different. What may be pretty to one could be patronizing to another."

Oswyn hadn't considered that. If he didn't choose his words carefully, he could end up sounding even more of a buffoon than he likely already did. "What would you write? If you wanted to impress someone?"

Titch sat in thoughtful silence. "I suppose it would depend on the girl."

Oswyn was ready to start tearing his hair out. He thought briefly that if he started doing so to Titch, the boy might be more cooperative. But Titch was right. This was for no ordinary girl, and his ordinary strategies would not be sufficient to this task. "Nirien is like no woman I've known. She's more than just a pretty kitchen maid or a blithe stablehand's daughter. She has skill and passion. She's fiery, and aggressive, and... lovely." He was getting away with himself, his thoughts coming in a confusing rush as he attempted to capture in words what he had heretofore only known in impressions.

Titch's eyes brightened. "You hardly need me to say all of that."

Oswyn shook his head. "I've known her a night and a day. If I tell her those things, she'll think I'm daft. No, Torquil was right. You're smarter than I am. You're... eloquent." He felt a sudden surge of pride for being able to express his feelings adequately, even if it was only to Titch.

The boy dropped his blue eyes and turned pensive once again. When he finally looked back up at Oswyn, he seemed almost apologetic. "Sometimes," he murmured, "honesty is better than eloquence." He put his paper and quill aside, stood up, and walked past.

Oswyn felt his shoulders slump and he rolled his eyes. "If you weren't going to help me," he groused, following Titch's path, "you could have said that from the start." As he turned fully toward the stairs, he saw that Nirien was standing near the top of the steps, next to Titch.

The look on her face was inscrutable. "I came to ask if there's anything special you wanted me to prepare for Isthmene," she said, regarding him coolly.

He did not know - he was not sure he wanted to know - how long she had been standing there, how much she had heard him say. He bit his upper lip and sucked in a long breath.

"Well?" Nirien asked.

Oswyn closed his eyes, mostly so he would not have to look at her. Stupidity seemed to be a common trait for him, of late.

"Apples," he said at last.

"Apples," she echoed, non-plussed.

He found it difficult to raise his voice much above a pitiable whisper. "If you have them to spare, yes."

"Is that all?"

He wanted to say no, that as long as she was with them, he would pledge his sword to her. His sword, his steed, anything that she asked of him would be hers. But he found that he had neither the will nor resolve to force those words from his lips. So he simply replied, in that same voice as before that sounded so mewling to his own ears: "Yes, thank you."

"All right," she said softly, and he was glad that he could not see her because he felt sure that she was trying not to laugh at him.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he was alone in the room. Titch's journal of papers was still sitting there, along with his slender writing quill. Oswyn picked up the instrument, and it felt tiny and awkward in his hand. He set the writing tip to a corner of one blank page and thought about what he could write that would accurately capture his whirling feelings.

As he looked around the room for some sort of inspiration, he caught sight of his sword belt in the corner, the two blades sticking out at harsh but clean angles. Setting the quill aside, he stood up and walked over to the swords, pulling the shorter of them from its scabbard. This felt natural in his hand.

He looked at his reflection in the finely-tempered steel: a handsome enough young man (no prince, but no fool, either), with dark hair and dark eyes, and a thin line of stubble along his jaw that could grow to a beard if he ever gave it the chance. He was certainly no poet, though; all of the eloquence in the world could not steer him from his fate. He could no more make himself into a bard than he could make his sword into a pen. Nirien would have to accept him this way or not at all.

At length, he set the sword back in its sheath and put it with the rest of his belongings. This was a foolish endeavor; he would stop wishing for his life to be different and get on with his duty.

By the time Oswyn had finished collecting his things (he had been a little amazed at how disorganized he had gotten after only a day in domestic surroundings - more proof that he was not intended for this sort of quiet life), the rains had let up enough for the travelers to venture outside without heavy cloaks. Only a faint drizzle and breeze remained of the previous storm; it was more of an annoyance than any real hindrance.

As he made his way down the steps, Oswyn found the first floor empty, but he heard talking and laughter coming from the rear of the house. Lona, Kela, and Ysen were standing beneath the roof overhang. Lona had a bowl on her hip, and she was mixing some sort of batter as she watched Jonnad walk the foal - with Titch astride her back - around the stable yard. Torquil was leaning against the pile of firewood, wrapping pieces of dry cloth around a few glass-blown bottles. Every so often, he would look up from his work and chuckle or snort. As for Nirien, she was conspicuously absent; he assumed that she was still in the stable proper.

Lona turned to look at Oswyn as he approached. "They're trying to teach young Titch some riding manners," she explained with a chuckle.

Kela glanced up at the two adults. "Mama, can I try next?"

Lona shook her head but smiled. "I don't think so, love. Maybe some other time."

Ysen glanced across at the young girl. "I can teach you to ride Bethe tomorrow." He turned to Lona. "If that's all right with you."

The mother looked uneasy. "I don't know if it's proper for a girl to learn riding so young."

"Nonsense," Torquil interjected as he placed another wound bottle into a large travel satchel. "Nirien's been in the saddle since she could walk." He gazed off into the distance, seeming very far away. "I don't think her mother would have had it any other way."

Lona smiled. "But did you approve?"

Torquil shook his head emphatically. "No. First a saddle, then a sword..." He jerked his head up, to where Nirien was walking toward them carrying the long-handled spear that she had been wielding when they had first seen her. "You see where it's gotten her."

Unaware of what the others were saying about her, Nirien came up to the open room and set the spear against the wall. "I've prepared the horses," she said, mostly to Torquil.

The Lord-Marshall merely grunted in acknowledgement and kept working.

Nirien watched him for a long moment, but when he said nothing more, she turned to Oswyn. She wore a modest smile. "There were a few apples in the loft; I put those in Isthmene's packs for you."

Oswyn nodded tentatively. "Thank you," he murmured. He felt rather stupid just standing there; she seemed to be waiting for something.

"I'm sorry they weren't more ripe, but the fruit sellers don't get into Erameth very often this time of year."

"That's all right," he replied. "I appreciate the thought."

Nirien paused, still looking at him.

"Is there...anything else?" Oswyn asked. He was feeling quite uncomfortable by this time.

Nirien shook her head. "I suppose not." She bowed to both men. "I'll be inside, if you need me." Then she hurried into the house, looking almost as distressed as Oswyn felt.

Ysen took Kela's hand and led her out into the gently pelting rain, which caused the little girl to squeal in delight. Lona laughed after them, shifting her bowl from one hip to the other. Then she turned to look straight at Oswyn.

"Do you even know your own mind?" Lona asked the younger man, adding a sharp "tsk" beneath her breath.

"Don't encourage him," Torquil interrupted brusquely. He did not glance up or stop working, but he was obviously paying attention to everything around him.

Oswyn looked at Lona, then at Torquil, then back at Lona again. He had no suitable answer for either of them.

Lona shook her head and turned her attention back to her daughter, whom Jonnad had hoisted up onto Bethe's back with Titch. She made a little harrumph noise. "Men," she muttered with a dubious snort. "Nothing but overgrown boys."

Oswyn decided - wisely so - that he shouldn't press Lona any further. So he stood up from the wall and went round into the house again. He peeked into the main room, and saw Nirien sitting near to the fireplace, sticking the embers with a metal poker. She stopped suddenly, and twisted her head slightly to the side.

"Did you want something?" She asked him.

Having been noticed, Oswyn took a step into the room. Time was, he could sneak up on someone and they would not know it until his sword was out and to their throat. He was getting rusty. Or perhaps he simply did not want to hide from her.

"Do you want to come with us to Bellan?" He asked, though for all of the world he could not say why he chose that question over all of the ones bouncing in his head.

Nirien turned the poker through the embers, rolling the metal pole so that little stray motes of fire and ash drifted up into the air. "Do you want to go?"

Oswyn shrugged. "It is not my choice," he said, honestly enough; he figured that there was very little to gain in not telling the truth at this point. "The task was given to me. It is my duty to fulfill it."

Nirien snickered. After a brief pause, she asked, "Do you have a father?" The question came seemingly from nowhere.

While it was not the question that he was expecting, it was a thought that he had been pondering of late, so he answered readily enough. "I suppose, somewhere. I hardly wish to claim kinship with him, though."

She turned to face him fully, and he was startled to see the dull streaks of sooty tears on her cheeks. "Torquil is more father to you than he is to me, or Jonnad, or Ysen." She spoke evenly, without a hitch to her voice, which impressed him.

Oswyn did not want to tell her that she was wrong. In some ways, he knew her to be right. He had even played the part in his own fashion, not so much in recent months as he came to discover his own needs and desires, but certainly when he had first joined Torquil. Still, he asked: "Do you believe that?"

She sniffed and sat back on her heels. "What I believe," she said in a very soft voice, "is that I will never be the son that he so desperately wanted me to be."

He walked over to her and knelt down beside her. The thought of her using this opportunity to try and change who she was seemed appalling to him; he didn't want her to change who she was. "Riding with us will not make you into a son for Torquil," he said quietly.

Nirien snickered, presumably at the absurdity of that idea. "This task was given to me, as well. Would you have me shirk it?"

Oswyn bowed his head, suitably humbled. "Of course not." He looked back up at her and smiled, invoking her own words from the other night. "Your path is your choice. Your life is your own."

She smiled back at him, and he thought that this was possibly the first time that she had looked truly happy. She laid one of her hands atop his. "Would that that were so," she said gently. Then she did something that he was not at all expecting: she leaned over away from the heat of the fireplace and kissed him tenderly on his cool cheek.

As she moved to stand, Oswyn took hold of her hand. "Nirien." He tightened his grip around her fingers. "It is so," he told her emphatically.

She smiled her sweet smile at him once more, pumped his hand, and stood up from him. Then she turned to the rear of the house, from where Ysen was calling her name. "I'm coming," she called back to him.

Ysen came running into the room, unaware of the potentially tender moment into which he could have stumbled. He was laughing and trying to catch his breath. Bethe, the white foal, had bucked Titch into the dirt after a rowdy row. When Nirien asked if he was all right, Ysen replied that he was, but that he was now coated in the sticky mud that covered the stable yard, and she would have to see because it was so funny.

Nirien ruffled her youngest brother's dark hair and followed him outside. Before she left, though, she spared Oswyn a backward glance and another smile.

* * *

True to Ysen's description, Titch had gotten himself muddier than a slop-pig, and he sat at dinner with a blanket thrown about his shoulders as his cleaned clothes dried near to the fire. Nevertheless, he was in happy spirits, talking and laughing with Ysen, with occasional interjections from Jonnad about what he should have done differently.

"Hopefully, that won't happen on the way to Bellan," Oswyn said with a grin. "Or you'll be riding in muddy clothes. It's not comfortable, believe me."

Lona sat next to Torquil, with Kela on her lap as the girl had finished her dinner and started to become sleepy. But at the mention of Bellan, a name she had heard often over the last several days since leaving her home, made Kela perk up.

"How far away is Bellan?" The little girl asked.

"Farther than Erameth," Ysen replied, although that was little in way of explanation to the girl, who had known no city other than Lameksis before this.

Titch licked the last vestiges of food from his lips. "My maps are upstairs. I could show you." He pushed himself away from the table and darted up the steps before anyone could say otherwise. He was trundling back down the steps after only a few short moments, a roll of parchment in his hands. He spread one of them out over the center of the table, as Lona, Jonnad, and Nirien pulled dishes out of the way.

Titch scanned the unfurled map and then glanced at Oswyn and Torquil. "Where are we?"

Oswyn pointed to an open area of the map. "This is Hyrwyn River country." He moved his finger along the line of the river and down. "And this is Erameth, here."

Nirien came to stand beside Oswyn, pressing up against his arm and shoulder so that she could see the map more from his angle. She pointed to a spot on the map slightly west of his fingers. "We're in this area, here."

Oswyn glanced over at her. He could smell the deep bitterness of her drink on her breath, and the sudden warmth on his cheek from her speech made the short hairs on his neck stand on end.

Titch followed along the path drawn on his map (they had detoured somewhat in coming here) until he reached the easternmost edge of the land. "This is Bellan," he said with some authority. He glanced up at Oswyn again. "How long do you think it will take to get there?"

"A week or so," Oswyn replied, sparing another glimpse at Nirien while he spoke. "If we push."

Nirien was gazing at the map, seemingly ignorant of Oswyn's scrutiny, and she nodded. "A week there, a week back. That's not so bad."

Torquil made a noise in the back of his throat. "It may not be a simple matter to gain an audience with the Bellan tribes."

Nirien turned to him. "I thought you speak for the King," she said with a hint of disdain.

Jonnad nodded. "Surely, they have to accept you as a representative."

"Speaking for the King and actually being the King are two different things." Torquil grunted dismissively.

Lona laid a hand on the table. "Is this dangerous, then?" She dropped her voice to a whisper, even though everyone at the table could hear her perfectly.

Torquil shrugged. "We shall see."

Lona dropped her eyes, then gave Kela a lift to the floor. "Come on, love. Let's clean up." She collected dishes from around the table and moved off, while Kela scampered behind her.

Almost before Lona was out of earshot, Nirien leaned down to Torquil. "Why do you worry her so?"

Torquil wore an expression of immaculate innocence. "I don't know what you mean."

Nirien pulled out Lona's chair and sat down, leaning in close to her father. Her voice was a harsh whisper. "You can see that she's troubled for your safety, and still you keep yourself from her. Why? Why can't you simply comfort her?"

Torquil cocked one black brow at her. "I was not aware that my personal affairs were of such importance to you."

Nirien sat back quickly, as if struck. She opened her mouth, then apparently thought better of whatever she was about to say, because she lowered her eyes and fell silent.

Torquil's gaze never wavered from her, and Oswyn felt a weighty chill fill the room. It was as if the rest of them had ceased to exist for a long moment, while the Lord-Marshall and his daughter battled silently.

"Don't presume to judge me," Torquil told Nirien in a low voice. "My fate is my own."

Oswyn started at the familiar sentiment. He wondered suddenly if Nirien had come to that philosophy on her own, or if it was some lasting vestige of her childhood with Torquil. Did Nirien truly not realize how much of his daughter she was?

"You are right," she murmured, sounding as if defeated. "Of course." She stood again, and bowed her head.

Torquil did not take pride in routing his daughter. Rather, he glanced around the table and told them quietly, "Get some rest. We leave at daybreak."

Oswyn and Titch nodded, and the younger boy rolled up his maps again.

They talked very little amongst each other for the remainder of the evening, and when it was time to sleep, Oswyn opted to spend the night out in the stable with Isthmene again, because the forced silence among the children was oppressive.

He found Nirien there, as well, tending to Biro in his pen. She glanced at him, nodded in sympathy, and returned to her task, but haltingly.

Beside him, Isthmene snorted for his attention. Oswyn placed his hand on her head between her eyes, rubbing beneath the crown of her mane. But then he moved away from her, shushing her when she nickered, and walked over to Biro's stall. He squeezed past the gate, which Nirien had left ajar, and came to stand next to the girl.

He could not say precisely what it was that led him to her this night, whether it was his pity for her plight, or his empathy for her feelings for her father, or whether it was the simplicity of his growing affection for her. Yet come he had, without knowing if she would accept him into her arms but daring to hope that she cared for him as dearly as he had come to care for her.

He did not speak to her, for fear of losing his nerve. So in lieu of words, he comforted her with his touch and his kiss. And with a kiss and a caress of her own, she put his fears to rest.


	5. Chapter 5

**V**

_Behal had told the truth - in the belly of the great red dragon, Ahn was no longer a boy, no longer himself. He was Man - the finest and foulest both of his kind - merged with the heart of the beast._

_There was power, yes. And fire. Oh, how there was fire. It burned through the dragon's scales and rekindled the heat in her pulsing heart. _

_Behal took to her wings, beating furiously as she laid waste to the dragonkin throne room that had been her living tomb lo these many years. And as the cavern crumbled around her, she screamed the joy of her freedom into the dark night, and she and the Man within her rose to greet the moon._

* * *

First light brought tears and farewells, and for the first time on this journey, Torquil was sorry that he had to place his duty above his own desires. He kissed both of his boys - and Lona, too, beautiful soul that she was to have spent time with him the night previous - and gave them his very best roguish smile before swinging up into Arno's saddle and kicking the gelding forward. 

Beside him, Titch was settled on Damma. He kept looking over his shoulder toward the house, as if he were expecting Ysen or Jonnad or even Kela to come running after them. Torquil himself thought that that could be a possibility, given the way that the boys sniffled through their goodbyes. But they rode on, in a rather surprising silence.

Torquil glanced over at Oswyn, who rode close to Nirien. He knew that Oswyn had spent the night in the stables, but the outrider was wont to do that on occasion. Oswyn had an almost uncanny understanding with his horse; he had always been sensitive to the creatures, although Isthmene was the first horse with whom he had been able to form a significant bond.

Nirien had not come into the house overnight, either, though, which concerned Torquil a bit more. Intellectually, he knew that he had no right to judge her behavior - he had been absent for more years of her life than not - but it rankled him to think that she was essentially lost to him as a daughter. His sons Jonnad and Ysen were still young (seventeen and fourteen, respectively, which meant to Torquil that they were old enough to have their opinions but not quite old enough to act on them) and impressionable, but Nirien was now more a woman of her own than a daughter of his.

She seemed to sense his scrutiny, because she turned her head to regard him, coolly.

"We'll return to them shortly," Torquil told her. "You needn't worry."

Nirien's head bobbed with the pace of the black stallion beneath her. "I'm not worried." She patted the spear secured to the horse's flank. "I'm more than capable of fending for myself."

Torquil eyed the weapon and mused, "I never thought that your mother would leave that to you."

The girl blinked. "She had little choice. I was the only one who could lift it."

The image of his daughter as a young girl with her grandfather's spear, nearly twice her size, made Torquil laugh heartily, and Nirien looked taken aback. Even Titch and Oswyn turned, startled by their leader's outburst.

When his laughter finally died down, Torquil nodded to her. "And here I thought that it would be a mistake to have a woman with me on the road."

Nirien did not miss the opportunity. "Is that why you left us?" She pulled Biro to a halt, but Torquil kept riding, so she shouted: "Is it?"

Torquil dropped his head and slowed Arno to a light jog, and then he turned the horse around. He looked up at her. "I have had many regrets, but leaving you, and your mother and your brothers, safe in a home is not one of them." He let his words sink in, then turned Arno around again and kept on the path. After only a moment, she came trotting back up to them.

He was half-expecting to ride on in silence, or perhaps to receive an apology from her, but once again he misjudged the extent of her anger.

"Safe?" Nirien asked, incredulous. "You thought we were safe?" She spurred Biro ahead of them and then turned the horse around, blocking their path. "Is that what you thought?"

Torquil shook his head. There would be time for recriminations later, but he had more important things to worry about at the moment. "Nirien, not now."

She continued, more frantic now: "Do you know what they did to us? What they did to us because of you?"

Oswyn pulled up beside her and put out one gloved hand. "Nirien, don't."

She ignored him, though. She had started to yell, the tendons in her neck standing out even beneath the light leather tunic that she wore under her armor. (His armor, Torquil reminded himself, even though it had belonged to a Torquil twenty years younger, and in all likelihood he would be hard-pressed at this point to get even an arm into the thing.) There were also tears forming in her eyes, something that Torquil never thought that he would see.

She reminded him, suddenly, of Mirane. Her mother had been a striking and lovely woman, if not conventionally beautiful. Her eyes - deep as the sea and brown like late autumn leaves - had been the first thing that he had ever noticed of her. She had always looked at him with searching eyes that seemed to already know the answers to his questions. He recalled the last moment that he had seen her alive - standing in the doorway of her home (their home, he reminded himself again), alone but proud and unwavering. He could not remember her ever shedding a tear, for him or anyone.

But if Nirien had inherited anything from her mother - more than her stately loveliness or proud demeanor - she had her mother's eyes, and now it was as if Mirane were crying before him, and Torquil felt a sudden deep and profound ache in his heart.

"They came for you - for you! We were as nothing to them. And they took my mother! And they nearly killed my brother! And I-" She faltered, her voice catching in her throat. Her fingers were gripping the reins of her stallion so tightly that the leather of her gloves was straining audibly.

Torquil felt his throat tighten. He had not wanted to hear this. But she seemed to need to say it.

Nirien looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. She opened her lips to speak, but no words came.

"Nirien," Oswyn murmured, close enough now to place his hand on her shoulder. "There is no need for this."

"No," Torquil told him. "Let her speak."

She caught her breath and pulled herself upright. She blinked quickly twice, three times, and then she said very quietly, "I killed them."

Torquil could only hold her gaze; he had no words for her...except, "I am sorry."

Nirien looked at him with an expression akin to disbelief. A fresh flood of tears came, running over her cheeks. She did not wipe them away, but blinked quickly again. She sat upright in her saddle and echoed, "I am sorry." Then she doubled over her reins, muttering, "I'm sorry," over and over again.

Despite the shocked look on his face, Oswyn still slid from Isthmene's back and stood beside her, his hand on her thigh. At his touch, Nirien slipped from Biro's saddle and into the outrider's arms, still weeping her apologies. Titch dropped to the ground, as well, and came to stand beside them, his arms thrown round Nirien's waist as she sobbed.

Torquil wasn't certain if she was apologizing to him, or to herself, or to the memory of those whom she had killed. But as he watched her standing there in such obvious pain, such obvious remorse, he felt that she had paid enough for her transgressions. His past was his past and there was no changing it now...but there was no reason why anyone else needed to bear the burden of his mistakes.

"Nirien," Torquil said.

Oswyn turned round to him. "Leave her be," he said angrily.

Torquil eased out of Arno's saddle and walked over to them. "No," he said firmly. He moved Titch out of the way and touched Nirien's shoulder, and when Oswyn made as if to push him back, Torquil gave the outrider a light but still insistent shove. "Nirien," he said again, ignoring the protests of both boys. "You can hate me for the remainder of this journey or even for the rest of your life if that is your wish - gods know I probably deserve it, and I would not be surprised to find that spear in my gullet one day - but we are short on time and still have far to go." He bent his head to her. "I need you focused. All of you."

Nirien broke from Oswyn and Titch and swallowed back her tears. She nodded, slowly but with the confidence he knew she had in her.

Torquil walked back to Arno and pulled himself into the saddle again. "Mount up," he told them, trying his best to stay composed. Not for the first time in the brief period since they had left the house did he think that it was perhaps the wrong idea to let Nirien accompany them. But he thought of Lona's words to him before they fell into a light sleep the night before:

"The bond between a parent and child is a silver thread, Torquil. It is a thread, but made of silver. It is not so easily broken as you might think. Nirien is not so simply lost to you; give her time to find you again." And then she had kissed him, in a way that was not widow-ish but rather sweet.

So he had acquiesced to Lona's request to let Nirien come with him. He knew that his daughter was a fine rider, and her spear arm could still prove valuable to them, both on the road and even possibly in Bellan. She was a stubborn girl, though (Mirane had been right - she was too much like him in some ways), and he knew that it would not be a simple task not to think of her as the little girl that he had left behind all those years ago.

Torquil turned his head only slightly, to see if the others were following him. If they were not, he would go to Bellan alone. He did not savor that idea, but there were greater needs at stake than his own. They were following, though; Titch and Nirien had climbed back into their saddles and were prodding their mounts to jog along behind him. Only Oswyn yet lingered on the road, his eyes downcast. After a long pause, he swung himself up onto Isthmene's back and followed them at a slow trot.

Torquil faced forward again, and sighed into his chest. He may have found one child on this journey, but in the course of doing so he had probably lost another.

There was silence for the rest of the day, for which Torquil was supremely thankful. He had had quite enough of outbursts and accusations for the time being. Although without the usual pointless banter between the riders, he became contemplative.

Nirien had turned quiet but not sullen, and that seemed right to him. He knew that she blamed him for much of the loss in her life - that much was evident - but he hoped that she had also inherited her mother's ability to forgive his many trespasses.

When he called for a stop to make camp for the night, he had Titch take care of the fire, sent Oswyn out to hunt up some small game if he could find it (he didn't like dipping into their supply of food until it was necessary), and asked Nirien to secure the horses. She did the chore without retort or complaint, which Torquil took for a good sign.

As Torquil passed Arno's reins to her, Nirien said in an offhand way, "It was a good idea to stop. The horses are tired." She patted Damma's smooth neck, with a genuine affection for the animal.

"And you?" Torquil asked beneath his breath. "When was the last time you were on a prolonged ride, away from home?"

Nirien shrugged non-committally. "I'll be fine."

Torquil pulled on Arno's securing reins, as if checking her work. "It's not like you're a young man," he said, emphasis on the last word.

Nirien looked him up and down. "Neither are you."

He chuckled. He wasn't expecting her to be so cheeky to him, but it was a refreshing change from the anger and silence. He nodded at the spear among her things. "How good are you with that?"

She hoisted the weapon up and shifted it from one hand to another, with a deft skill that he had only ever seen in a man. "Good enough."

"Enough to wager your life on it?"

She thought for a moment. "I'd certainly wager yours."

Torquil could hear the challenge implicit in her words and tone. But he laughed anyway, a powerful, amused laugh that required him to catch his breath after a few moments. He nodded with a kind of grudging respect. "I'd like to see for myself, if you don't mind."

Nirien bowed her head and took a battle stance, with both of her hands on the long shaft of the weapon. She pointed it toward the closest unmarked tree and pulled back for a thrust.

"No, no," Torquil corrected her. "I want to see you against a real target. A human one." He bent down to his own satchels and pulled out his battle axe, and proceeded then to unravel the leather guards bound around the vicious-looking blades.

She looked hesitant as he took up position opposite her, especially as she eyed the fine metal edges of the axe. But she swallowed and lifted the point of her spear.

They circled each other for a few moments, during which time Torquil noticed, from the corner of his eye, Titch moving close to one of the trees on one side. He was half-hidden behind the trunk, and Torquil was about to tell him to stand back a little farther. Then Nirien lunged, and it was only his superior experience that allowed him to move out of the way of the point of her spear.

Torquil grinned, impressed that she had taken the opening in his defenses. A good fighter took every opportunity to gain the upper hand...even if it meant bending the rules of fair play at times. "Not bad," he complimented. He shifted the head weight of the axe from his right hand to his left and started circling again.

She lunged a second time, but the move was telegraphed, so he easily avoided it.

"A spear's good for distance," he told her, "but it's still bloody slow."

Nirien narrowed her eyes and dropped the point low to the ground again. "Don't tell me my job," she replied. She raised the blade of the weapon in a quicker jump; she had moved one hand closer to the middle of the shaft, and she seemed to be using the weight of the weapon as leverage for a faster strike.

This time, he had to use the head of his axe to knock the blade away. "Better," he said.

She made a little frustrated growling noise in the back of her throat, and Torquil had to suppress a knowing smile. He had spent enough time with different fighters to know that the one thing they all had in common was an inability to stay focused when they were angry. Nirien was rapidly approaching such a point; she was not the only one who could exploit an enemy's weakness.

She drew a slow circle in the air with the tip of the weapon, the way that a swordsman would do, as if waiting for him to make the next move.

"This walking is boring," Torquil said. He smiled. "Is that your plan of attack? To bore me to death?" He never wasted time in a real battle speaking - he both knew and believed that a fighter needed to keep his mind completely focused on a battle, and banter was usually pointless against an enemy that would sooner cut off his head than stop for an exchange of insults - but he wanted to see what she would do when she was driven to distraction. He figured that she already had a fair amount of pent-up aggression against him, and now he was simply adding to that, to see how far she could go before she exploded.

As it turned out, it did not take Nirien long at all to reach a point of blind anger. She lunged fully, using her entire body to send the spear straight at him.

Torquil had a second of crystal clarity as she came at him. Off to his left, Titch moved away from his tree and let out a short gasp. To his right, Oswyn appeared in the clearing; he dropped the body of a medium-sized hare and rushed forward, sword in hand. And in front of him, the color in Nirien's face went from a flush of fury to blanched white, all in a heartbeat. It was not until then that he noticed she had stabbed him.

"Are you all right?" Titch asked quickly, dropping to the patch of ground where Torquil suddenly found himself.

"Are you mad?" Oswyn demanded, although for the moment Torquil could not tell if the outrider was speaking to him or to Nirien.

The girl tossed her spear to the ground and fell to her knees beside him. "Father," she whispered.

"I did not expect..." Torquil began, then swallowed hard. He breathed deeply through his nose, and the smell of his sweat was sharp and bitter. He looked down at his hand, which he had instinctively clapped to the slowly-leaking wound on his chest. With the passage of that pristine lucidity, the pain near his shoulder was definite but not as intense as he originally feared. He pulled his hand away and saw that, while there was more blood than he would have cared to see coming from his own body, the wound did not seem particularly deep. He gave Nirien a slightly lopsided grin. "I did not expect ever to hear that word from you again."

She sat back on her heels in disbelief, unable to answer him. At least he had managed to get the last word this time.

Torquil slid his hand beneath the collar of his vest and tunic and pushed the leather away from his skin so that he could see the extent of the damage. It was not pretty by any means - the spear blade had punctured a hole nearly the size of his heel close to his shoulder, and it continued to seep blood - but the wound looked clean and he could still move his arm, though with a significant amount of pain.

Titch hurried over to the main pack of supplies and when he returned started to dress the wound. (When the suggestion of cauterizing the wound came up, Torquil stated with notable vehemence that he was not going to let anyone burn him - it hurt enough as things were.)

"What happened?" Oswyn wanted to know.

Titch put the finishing touches on the dressing and sat back to inspect his handiwork. "They were sparring."

Oswyn turned to Nirien. "You do know that sparring means it is only practice?" There was both worry and anger in the younger man's voice.

Torquil stood up with Titch's help and waved away Oswyn's reproachful words. "It's all right. I wanted to see if Nirien could use that spear in a real fight." He rotated his shoulder and grimaced. Then he smiled. "She did exactly what I would have done."

Oswyn shook his head. "You are mad." He sheathed his sword and walked back to where he had dropped their dinner.

Nirien did not move to pick up her spear. Instead, she helped Torquil walk closer to the fire and sit down in the hollow of one of the larger trees. "Are you sure you're all right?" She asked, her voice hushed.

Torquil snickered. "This old body's seen worse scars than the one you'll give me, you can be certain of that."

She knelt down next to him, her hands placed demurely on her thighs. "I didn't mean..." She lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Torquil shook his head. "You've fine skill with that beast. I shouldn't have left myself open like that." When it seemed as though she was just going to sit there staring at him all night, he waved her away. While he was touched by her troubled expression, he felt uncomfortable by the scrutiny. "Go on, I'll be all right. Titch is a fine healer; this will be mended in no time."

After a long moment (and two separate assurances from him that he would recover well enough with some rest), Nirien retrieved her spear and put it away with the rest of her things. When they had finished dinner and began to set up watch rotations for the rest of the night, she volunteered to take Torquil's shift in addition to her own, and would not take no for an answer. For once, Torquil was glad that she was so stubborn; he actually got a full night's rest out in the field.

The following morning, Nirien asked him if he needed any assistance mounting up again, to which Torquil replied quite honestly that if he couldn't even get into the saddle on his own with something so minor as a shoulder wound, he was not fit to be on this journey at all. She seemed to accept this and stopped mollycoddling him, although he had to admit that it had been nice to see some concern from her.

As they rode on through that day and the next (with Titch consulting his maps every so often to make sure that they were not off-course), the terrain turned more lush. Torquil was not familiar with this area, despite how close they were to his old homestead. He asked Nirien if she was still in recognizable territory, and she admitted that she had never been east of Erameth, even on her more adventurous outings (which Torquil suspected were not as adventurous as she might have led them to originally believe, despite her undeniable skill with both spear and horse). They camped for the night on the outskirts of a large, heavy-forested wood, all of them too tired or too preoccupied to make much conversation.

The next three days were spent among the trees, as their horses had difficulty picking through the forested undergrowth; the ground was definitely too uneven and overgrown to manage anything faster than a light canter. But game was plentiful (so they ate well), as was freshwater (so they could use one pool to wash and another to drink), and with the trees blocking their view of the sky during both the day and at night, the close quarters added a heretofore intimacy to the quartet that was not unwelcome.

When not on watch, Torquil slept by himself, but he noticed that Titch always curled close to either Nirien or Oswyn, and likewise the two older riders usually sought comfort and warmth with each other.

Torquil had expected to be more troubled by the growing fondness between Oswyn and Nirien, but in his more thoughtful moments, he came to the realization that that simply was not the case. The both of them were as old as he had been when Mirane had given birth to Nirien, so it should hardly surprise him that they could be physically attracted to each other. However, if there was anything more than affectionate friendship between the two of them, they were discreet enough not to make it known.

He was well aware that Oswyn was no stranger to the fairer sex, and Nirien likewise comported herself around the youth with a self-assurance that comes only from experience with the opposite gender. Torquil did not, even in his most hopeful moments, expect Nirien to divulge any information about her possibly-more-than-friendship relationship with the outrider; and Oswyn lately had come to keep both his thoughts and troubles to himself rather than seek guidance from Torquil or Colwyn or anyone else. The both of them had grown up, Nirien away from his watchful gaze and Oswyn before his eyes.

On the sixth morning since they had left the house, they left the woods behind and entered the sweeping plains and sloping hills of what the locals called the Overlands. At the far edge of these verdant plains they could see the stone arches of Bellan's walls, still a great distance away - perhaps more than a day's solid ride, given the deceptive distance of these plains - but finally (blessedly!) visible after so many days and nights trudging through the trees.

The four of them rode abreast of each other, with each of the horses oddly keyed up, the runners Isthmene and Biro most of all.

Oswyn took a great breath that made his chest rise and fall like a powerful billows, and he sighed. He turned to Torquil and flashed a mischievous grin. "I think we could use a run," he said, and beneath him Isthmene nickered excitedly.

Torquil smiled and nodded toward the faraway arches. "Straight on, if that's what you'd like."

Oswyn rose a little in his saddle, then looked at Nirien and Titch. He pointed to a solitary bank of trees a fair distance away. "I'll race you to those trees."

Nirien smiled at him. "What do I get if I win?"

Oswyn snickered, more nasty than nice. "Don't worry about that," he told her. "You won't."

She squinted at him, then spurred Biro into a run without even waiting for the start.

Oswyn gaped after her, but only for a moment. "Not fair," he muttered, then kicked Isthmene into a gallop.

Titch laughed. "Me, too!" He clapped Damma's reins, and the even-tempered mare was a bit more reluctant to start running, but eventually she was after the two racers at her own respectable speed.

Torquil watched the three of them gallop away, thinking to himself that he was too old for that sort of thing. But then Arno snorted and stomped, and he glanced down at the horse. "Think you can catch 'em, boy?" He didn't know if Arno was up to the task, but he was a young and energetic horse yet...and Torquil wasn't really as old as all that, either. His wound was almost healed, and he was yet vigorous enough to spar regularly with Colwyn. Scoffing inwardly at his age, he kicked the gelding to a gallop and soon was closing the distance to the frontrunners.

Damma and Arno were fine runners, and they were certainly giving their all, but they simply could not match Isthmene or Biro for speed or power. Still, Torquil was close enough to see clearly as the two riders jockeyed back and forth for position, neck-and-neck as they were. Nirien was up in her saddle like a trick rider, nearly leaning over Biro's neck; Oswyn was leaning down close against Isthmene, almost riding to her side. Torquil had seen him take that riding position before (one of their old cohorts, an archer by skill, had taught him how to do that), always to his advantage. Nirien was in for a disappointment; Oswyn cleared the trees nearly a full length ahead of her.

Having overshot the line of trees from their speed, the outrider turned Isthmene about and laughed vigorously. He led her back to the imaginary finish line and patted her heaving flank as Torquil and Titch came to a slower stop.

"That was fun," Titch said, catching his breath. Still smiling, he slid from the saddle and dutifully pulled out the water gourds and pouches.

Oswyn crossed one leg over his knee and propped his elbow on the supported leg. He cupped his chin in his hand and smiled at Nirien. "See? I told you."

Nirien slid from Biro's back and accepted a half-gourd filled with water from Titch. She offered it to Biro, who drank thirstily. She wore a sour pout. "That wasn't fair. Your mare's naturally faster than Biro."

"You had a head start!" Oswyn protested.

"Be a gracious loser, Nirien," Torquil told her, trying very hard to keep the amused smile from his face. He thanked Titch for the water and lifted the gourd to Arno's mouth so that the horse could drink. "Oswyn won fairly."

Nirien rolled her eyes. "Fine. What do you claim as your prize, o proud one?"

Oswyn looked thoughtful. "I don't know. I'll think of something, though."

Titch handed Oswyn a gourd, but as he passed Nirien he murmured, "That could take a while."

Nirien laughed then, and Oswyn sneered at the boy.

Torquil watched them tease and cavort and smiled to himself. This was certainly different than leading a bunch of experienced brigands and thieves, but no less interesting.

That night, they made camp at another short line of trees that gave them some cover, in sight of Bellan's walls. Torquil laid out a plan of action for the following day over a dinner of cured meat and dried roots. They would ride at first light and make their way into the city proper; the King's seal would with any luck see to their unquestioned acceptance. Torquil as chief emissary and Oswyn as his guard would seek appointment with the Bellan Council of Lords, while Nirien and Titch would find suitable and comfortable lodgings for a few nights, as Torquil suspected that they would not be granted an audience with the Council right away, emissary of the King or not.

Keeping first watch, Torquil looked after the three younger travelers as they drifted off to sleep. Titch was already mostly asleep, wrapped in a blanket beside Nirien. Nirien had removed her heavy chain podromos armor and was now curled up in another blanket between both Titch and Oswyn. And Oswyn, while he kept his heavy leather riding livery on, had pulled his long travel cloak about him, with his head nodding toward Nirien as he dozed.

He looked over his shoulder, to where the lights of Bellan lit up the night against the monotony of black, and he hoped that this was no fool's errand that Colwyn had sent him on.

* * *

The quartet rode into Bellan well-rested but anxious. As Torquil had hoped, the city militia let them pass as expected emissaries from the White Castle. So at the town circle, they parted ways, Nirien and Titch taking the horses while Torquil and Oswyn went to gain audience with the Council of Lords. They agreed to meet back at the circle in an hour's time. 

Torquil was thankful that they had spent time in forests with freshwater pools; they were considerably less rank than they would have been otherwise. He was fairly certain that Bellan's aristocratic Council would understand if they arrived smelling less than flowery after the distance that they had had to travel from the White Castle, but you never could tell with these stuffy noblemen.

Flashing their royal crest at the local militia got quick results: they were taken to the Council's main audience chamber in the city's Hall of Judges in no time, although they were forced to wait while the guards made their presence known to the Council.

A pretty, dark-haired woman came out to meet them. She was dressed in a long, full-body white robe that reached the floor, what looked like some sort of formal governmental uniform. She bowed to them with a modicum of respect. "My name is Suyyn, chief notary of Lord Ilgoyre, head of the Council of Lords," she said in a voice with a strange, almost purring accent. "The Council will hear your request on the morrow. Until then, you are welcome to enjoy the hospitality of Bellan and all of her subjects."

Torquil bowed in return. "Tell Lord Ilgoyre we thank him. If you could direct us..."

Suyyn nodded. "There is a fine inn near the town circle, the Eagle's Roost. You may tell them that you are guests of Lord Ilgoyre, and they will make every concession to you and yours." She handed Torquil a medal made of gold that apparently the Council handed out like scraps of paper, the way she handled it. Oswyn's eyes went a little wide at the heavy decoration, and even Torquil had to admit that it made the thief in him just a bit greedy.

Suyyn bowed again and, without waiting for further thanks, turned away and walked back into the Council room. The chamber guards closed the doors behind her, leaving the two former thieves alone.

At least, Torquil had thought that they were alone. Another woman, this one dressed in a red dress inlaid with yellow silk, looked at them as she entered the Hall from the street side. She was joined on either side by two well-armed guardsmen, but it was the woman who commanded both Torquil's and Oswyn's attention. She was stunningly beautiful, with green eyes and red-blonde hair and fair, perfect skin. She smiled at them as she walked past. The chamber guards bowed to her and her sentinels, and then they opened the doors for them.

After the doors were once more closed, Torquil shook his head in mute amazement. All things considered, he was happy to have led most of his life in relative obscurity. The life of nobility was strange, indeed.

Oswyn pulled off his heavy riding gloves as they walked from the hall and back to the center of the town. "Well, that was a waste. They dismissed us like so much garbage."

Torquil shrugged. He turned the lords' seal over in his hands, testing the weight of the thing. It was definitely real gold. "I wouldn't say that." He handed the medal to the other man. "Feel that."

Oswyn shifted the medal from one hand to the other. "Nice," he commented. He handed it back to Torquil. "Do you think there's more where that came from?"

Torquil put the seal into the lining of his vest for safekeeping. "I think it's interesting that Bellan is making such a fuss over an artifact that may or may not be important when there's so much wealth already to be had in this city."

Oswyn spared a moment to wave to Nirien and Titch, who were standing near the fountain at the town's center. He glanced back to Torquil. "You think they're hiding something?"

Torquil shrugged again. "I'm saying we shouldn't trust them too easily. Something doesn't feel right about this." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Just keep your eyes open."

Nirien stood up from the edge of the fountain. "We found a room there," she said. She pointed to a large housing establishment halfway down the main thoroughfare, which happened to be the same one that Torquil was suggested by the Council representative - the Eagle's Roost. "Not cheap, but it's clean and well-stocked."

"Don't worry about the cost," Torquil told her. "Seems we're now here on the city's expense." He nodded toward the inn and the others followed him.

The Eagle's Roost's innkeeper was a pleasant, stocky man with a long red-and-white moustache that he had braided into his beard. He recognized Nirien and Titch, but when Torquil flashed the Council's seal at him, he stood a little taller and handed a fistful of coin to Nirien. "No need to keep the deposit any longer, milady. That seal's good enough for me." He led them up a secluded flight of stairs near the back of the inn, to a row of ornately-carved doors. "This way, please."

The first door opened onto a sprawling room that looked like it took up half of the entire second floor. A large, delicately-decorated bed dominated the room, while a large copper-and-steel tub, a free-standing oak cabinet, and a set of high-backed chairs with flamboyantly-colored cushions occupied the rest of the open space. There were intricate rugs placed around the floor and colorful tapestries hung from the ceiling before every full wall, with the exception of the wall with the door that led out to a second-floor balcony.

"This is the master suite," the innkeeper informed them, and he nodded to Torquil. "I hope it meets with your lordship's expectations."

Torquil had to swallow to find enough spit to speak. He nodded and smiled with as much composure as he could muster. "Uh, yes, this will do nicely." He silently cursed himself for sounding like an idiot, although he was doing considerately better than his companions, who were still staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the expanse of the room.

The innkeeper took a second look at the three younger travelers and remarked, "The adjoining suite is for your, eh, servants." He directed them to the second room on the hall. While not quite as grand as the master suite, this second suite still boasted no less than four medium-sized beds (all puffed with pillows and duvets, the same as the master's bed) and a large closet of some sort, presumably for servants' uniforms or some such. There was also a balcony here, though smaller than the master suite's. The third room was a changing room and bath, again presumably for the servants (it noticeably rankled both Oswyn and Nirien every time the innkeeper called them that, and Torquil had to suppress a smile).

The innkeeper arranged to have their belongings moved from their common room to the suites, so that the guests could make themselves comfortable after their journey.

Torquil would take the master's suite (to keep up appearances, he told the others) but for the moment he sat down in the servants' room while the younger travelers chose beds and laid ground rules, the main one being that Nirien would have the common bath and changing room to herself when she wanted it, which happened to be at that moment.

"This is very impressive," Titch said as he bounced merrily on the top of one bed.

Oswyn, still fully dressed in his heavy battle livery, was stretched out on another. "I could get used to this."

"It's not much better than the castle," Titch pointed out. "I thought you didn't like that."

Oswyn took a deep breath, pressing his nose into the faintly-perfumed pillows. "No one serves me in the castle," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

Torquil sniffed. "It's fine to be waited on for a while, but I'm sure you'd become bored with it. Why do you think so many gentles leave their posh homes, seeking adventure and excitement? Would you give up riding Isthmene through the countryside, just for a room like this?"

Oswyn opened his eyes. "I suppose not." He closed his eyes again and settled back into the pillows once more. "But it's nice to imagine."

"Aye," Torquil agreed. He stood up, wincing at the crick in his neck and back. "I could do with a nap myself. Someone wake me for dinner." He waved to the boys and headed back to the master's suite, bumping into a young servant boy who was carrying several packs of their baggage. Torquil nodded to him as an afterthought and went into his room. He lay down on the plush blankets and was just thinking about how nice it was to lie in a bed of his own again when he fell to sleep.

Waking in unfamiliar surroundings had never been one of Torquil's favorite feelings. He had slept in so many different places over the last several nights that it took him a good minute to figure out that he was in Bellan, at last. His bed was over-soft, which had been nice at first (it lulled him to sleep like a babe in no time at all), but as he slept on, it became as uncomfortable as sleeping on hard earth. Eventually, with the pain in his shoulder flaring, he had woken, to find himself in almost-darkness.

The one source of light came from the top of the balcony door, which had a half-circle window carved into it. Threads of light streamed up from street level like gaseous snakes. It was some sort of controlled firelight.

He got up from the bed, his movements still sluggish, and crossed to the balcony door. As he was about to open it, he heard a loud, excited whoop and nearly made to grab for his axe. Of course, his axe was on the floor somewhere amidst his other belongings, not at his side where he'd expected it to be.

After a moment, another yell sounded, and this time Torquil recognized the voice as Titch's. Grumbling beneath his breath, he opened the door to the hallway and stomped over to the servants' quarters.

"What's all the hooting about?" Torquil asked from the doorway.

The three of them were clustered about their own balcony. Oswyn turned back to acknowledge him. "It's some sort of faire, Torquil," he said, pointing to the street below.

Titch turned around. "There are dancers, and acrobats, and a fire eater!"

Even Nirien wore a giddy grin as she turned to him. "It is very exciting, Father. Can we go and see?"

Torquil was about to ask her if she realized that these types of circuses were made more for children than for warriors (or want-to-be warriors), but then he acquiesced. They were certainly deserving of some simple fun. He nodded to the three eager faces. "All right, I don't see why not."

Oswyn and Titch ran straight for the hallway door, and Torquil had to get out of the way of their stampede.

Nirien sat down on one of the beds to slip on her boots, and in the room's scattered candlelight, she reminded Torquil very much of her mother. Her hair was shorter, of course (Mirane had favored long braids or a bun), and her frame was more sinewy muscle than defined curves (Mirane had taken great pride in the way she could fill out even a simple dress), but her mannerisms and the way that she cocked her head to the side as she laced up her boots were uncannily familiar.

Torquil told her so. "You look like your mother right now."

Nirien looked up in surprise. Then she smiled. "Do I?" She chuckled, eyes downcast. "Jonnad says that, sometimes." She put both of her feet on the floor, but did not stand up. "I miss her," she said suddenly.

Torquil nodded. "As do I." The words came without him even thinking about them, taking him by surprise as much as they seemed to do her.

"Truly?" Nirien asked, interested now.

Torquil nodded again. "Oh, yes." He thought back to Mirane's shining eyes, her clever smile, the way that she rolled her shoulders when she was tired, or the way that she rolled her hips when she was feeling coquettish. "There was only one woman I have ever wanted by my side forever, and that was your mother."

Nirien brightened her smile as she stood up. She came over and took Torquil's hand. "Would you like to come with me? To watch the show?"

Torquil returned her smile. "Aye. I could use the company."

The "faire," as it turned out, was little more than a parade of local street performers trying to drum up business. But it provided for a welcome distraction from the day's work, or seemed to, because the street was crowded enough that Torquil thought half the city must be here. He had to make sure that he wasn't inadvertently stepping on any tiny hands or feet; there were clusters of little children sitting on the ground, clapping their hands against the earth whenever something extra-amusing happened.

He spotted a laughing Titch playing willing participant in a juggling act. Not far from him, Oswyn was watching a fancifully-dressed young woman leap and tumble blindfolded through a series of fiery circles. Nirien had gone to join him, and as she came close, Oswyn took her by the shoulder and maneuvered her in front of him, where he could rest his chin in the hollow of her neck as they watched the show.

Torquil smiled at the easiness of it all.

He glanced around to see if there were any food sellers about (his stomach was growling audibly by this time), when he spotted a familiar sight: the woman from the Hall of Judges was watching the blindfolded acrobat, as well. She was flanked by those burly guards, but he could still see her face quite clearly. The blazing torchlight of the tumbler's stage flickered off of her features, making the woman seem ethereal as well as beautiful. She clapped her delicate hands as the acrobat ended her show, removing her blindfold to much applause and cheering. Then the woman from the Hall of Judges turned to move away, when she saw Torquil.

She smiled at him again, but the dispersing crowd and the guards whisked her away before he could get a chance to approach her. He pushed his way past a few groups of sightseers, but the red silk dress was nowhere to be found.

Torquil said a low curse, just as Oswyn and Nirien came to join him.

"Masterful show," the girl said with a grin.

Torquil shook his head, not really interested in the show anymore. "That woman from this afternoon," he said to Oswyn. "I saw her again, here, in the crowd. Did you see her?"

The outrider took a quick glance left and right. "No, I didn't. Should I look for her?"

Torquil shook his head again. "No, don't bother." He glanced around for Titch, and found the boy running toward them, with a show dagger in one hand.

Titch waved the dagger in front of him. "Look what they gave me," he said happily.

Nirien raised both hands. "Ah, careful with that." She looked at her father. "What was that, about a woman?"

Torquil was still gazing out into the crowd. "It's nothing. Just a strange coincidence." The crowds had mostly broken up by now, so he jerked his head back toward their inn. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

The travelers made idle conversation amongst themselves for the rest of the night, until they retired to their respective beds. Torquil said good night to his three companions, and he had every intention of getting to bed himself, but he was haunted by the image of the woman from the Hall of Judges.

Foregoing sleep for the time being, he drew himself a hot bath. As he sat in the steamy water, reaching down every once in a while to wipe a handful of water over his sweating face, he thought about how a woman he did not even know could bewitch him so.

He did not love her, of that much he was certain. This feeling he had was more curiosity than anything else. He was sure that she was more than a simple noblewoman - her presence at the Hall of Judges seemed to intimate that well enough. Even women of noble birth were not often present in places of law and authority.

All of the kingdoms and fiefdoms and tribes of Krull were patriarchal in nature. Perhaps that had been different at one time, when Man was still but young, but as things now stood, women were not commonplace in positions of power. There were queens, and princesses, and duchesses and all the rest, and they had some amount of power in their respective homes (be they single households or sprawling kingdoms), but Krull was still led by men.

Torquil didn't know if the world was better off in its father-to-son inheritance of power, or if the old, mysterious ways of Widow, Witch, and Waif had more significance. To be perfectly honest, it made his head spin to think about it.

He dumped two handfuls of water over his head and considered the noblewoman in the red dress again.

She could have been a wife of one of the lords in council, or a daughter if one of the lords was old enough. That made the most sense. But why he should notice her - and she notice him - twice in the same day, he could not be sure.

Eventually, the water in his bath turned cold, and he resigned himself to bed for the night. He left the bath to be dealt with by the inn's servants in the morning; he would have more pressing matters to attend to come the day.

First light brought Torquil a clearer head. Gone was the odd preoccupation with the woman in the red dress, as well as his musings about the appropriateness of a society in which only one gender held power.

He dressed in his finest Lord-Marshall livery and walked down the hall to awaken both Oswyn and Titch, who would have to appear with him before the Council.

Oswyn was ready to go, looker smarter than usual in his own dark grey uniform. He patted his swords, supposedly to show Torquil that he remembered to be ready for business.

As for Titch, he was just finishing pulling on his boots. He stood up, nodded wordlessly at Torquil, and reached for the Seer staff that he had brought with him.

The boy looked anxious, and Torquil could only imagine what the child was feeling at the prospect of learning about another Seer. He wondered, briefly, if Titch would seek out such a new master to replace his old one. While the notion was entertaining, he thought that Titch harbored too much love for the White Castle and its lovely Queen.

Nirien was dressed, as well, though she was rubbing her eyes and yawning. She bid Torquil good morning and indicated that she was going to get some breakfast and most likely check in on the horses.

Torquil nodded, and then ushered Oswyn and Titch down the stairs. The three of them walked in relative silence to the Hall of Judges (there was some clattering from Oswyn's swords, and both his and Torquil's heavy leather boots made distinctive crunching sounds in the gravel road, and the Seer staff that Titch carried made chiming noises every step he took). When they reached the Hall, Torquil called for them to stop.

He looked Oswyn and Titch up and down. "Let me do the talking," he said, and both boys nodded. He turned his attention solely to Titch, then. "There will come a time when I will need your opinion, and you must promise to give it to me truthfully."

Titch swallowed and nodded again, but he said nothing.

"Good," Torquil said, then led them up the steps to the Hall's entrance doors.

A pair of guards was there to greet them. Torquil informed them that they had legitimate business, and that they had been sent by King Colwyn of Turold-Erig, but the guards seemed to ignore him. They simply reached out and opened the doors to the Hall, letting the three travelers pass.

Once inside, Suyyn was there to greet them. She was once again (still?) dressed in her formal robes. She bowed low at the waist and looked and spoke only at Torquil, ignoring both Oswyn and Titch. "The Council of Lords will see you now. Please follow me. You will be allowed to speak once Lord Ilgoyre, High Lord, has addressed you."

"I understand," Torquil said, although he really wanted to tell the major-domo that he didn't particularly appreciate being spoken to like a common servant. He reminded himself to be careful not to let his naturally caustic tongue get in the way of his diplomatic mission; Colwyn had entrusted him with this responsibility, and he was loathe to jeopardize its success in any way. So he kept his mouth shut and followed Suyyn inside.

The Council chamber proper was overwrought but still impressive. It was a large domed room, similar to the White Castle's own council room, but with fluted spires that reached to the painted ceiling, and flamboyant wall sconces that did not serve to light so much as intimidate. The room was dominated by a series of nine benches structured pyramidally, with the tallest bench in the center. Presumably, the old man seated at the highest bench was Lord Ilgoyre.

Torquil already did not care for the man. He was a consummate judge of character, and this Ilgoyre looked to be of the self-important variety of noble. Torquil despised the kind; as a thief, it had always been a source of pride whenever he could mark Ilgoyre's type.

Ilgoyre and his fellow lords discussed other matters for a few minutes before they turned their attention to Torquil. When they did, there was a distinctive air of disdain that permeated the room.

"And now," Ilgoyre said, his voice rough and booming. "What has the young King of Turold-Erig sent us?"

Torquil bowed (though it pained him to do so) and indicated Titch and Oswyn with a wave of his hand. "Your emissaries reported to us that you had discovered an artifact of unknown origin. King Colwyn sent us to advise you on its nature."

"Advise us?" Ilgoyre asked. "Your boy-King may rule Turold-Erig, but Bellan stands alone against the sea. What has Turold-Erig given us in return for our cooperation?"

"Your freedom," Torquil answered through clenching jaw. "King Colwyn has no wish to infringe on your lordships' jurisdiction, but you did send to us for guidance."

Ilgoyre looked down his nose at the trio, a task made easy given that he sat nearly two heights above them. "We respectfully withdraw our request."

"We came all this way-!" Titch blurted, and Torquil hissed at him for speaking out-of-turn.

Ilgoyre barely registered the boy's presence. "The artifact has been identified, so you see that we no longer require your assistance."

"Identified as what?" Torquil asked, more out of his own curiosity than anything else. Then he added, "Unless you would prefer an armed contingent to make their own inquiries."

Ilgoyre glanced to the side, where Suyyn suddenly appeared. He muttered something to her, too low to be heard at floor level. She nodded and retreated.

Ilgoyre paused a moment, and then he nodded slowly at Torquil. "You may view the artifact." He extended one arm toward a set of doors opposite from where they entered, and Suyyn entered again, holding a lacquered black box in both hands.

She approached the trio with silent, even steps, and Torquil had to wonder if this Suyyn was more than a simple attachÈ or attendant; she moved like an assassin.

She stopped within two strides of them and opened the box for the travelers to look inside.

Torquil saw a semi-spherical, chiseled stone, perhaps as large as both his fists together. It was of a rich ruby color, but not a gem. His thief's instincts and talents did not recognize it as any precious or semi-precious stone. He looked at Titch.

The boy was studying the artifact closely, but there was no flicker of recognition in his eyes, either. He glanced up at Torquil and shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "It is a source of great power, but none that I know. The Seer had nothing of its kind," he whispered.

The exchange did not go unnoticed by Suyyn. She stared straight at Titch. "Are you a Seer?"

Titch swallowed hard and spoke. "An apprentice, only. But my old master had no stone like that which you hold."

Suyyn nodded to him. She closed the box, and turned softly on her heel.

Ilgoyre addressed them again. "Your audience is ended. Inform your king that we require none of his aid."

Torquil bit back the epithet that was on the tip of his tongue and instead bowed to the circle of lords, although he tried to do it in as sarcastic a manner as possible.

Oswyn and Titch followed him out as they were shown the main doors.

"Those arrogant bastards," Torquil grumbled. "They just wanted to rub our noses in their own power." He turned to the now-closed doors and shook his fist at it. "Ingrates!"

Oswyn shook his head. "So we're leaving, then?"

"Aye," Torquil muttered, still making rude gestures at the door. It was childish and petty, but damn it, they were treated no better than children!

Oswyn sighed. "I'll tell Nirien. At least I won't have to keep Isthmene locked up for another night."

Torquil turned toward the Hall's entrance steps and stopped, suddenly. The noblewoman from the day before was here, again, standing not twenty paces from them. She was regarding all three of them with interest, although she seemed to start at Oswyn's words.

She smiled winningly. "Hello again," she said, and gave them all an encompassing nod. The guards to either side of her made a move, as if to usher her on, but she raised a hand to stop them.

Torquil bowed to her, but his gaze never left hers. "My lady. Have we been introduced?"

She shook her head, her white-gold curls bouncing at both temples. She extended her hand. "I am afraid not. I am the Lord Ilgoyre's daughter."

Torquil took her hand and bowed to the clover-style ring on her finger, while Oswyn and Titch inclined their heads in a less formal (but still suitably courteous) nod.

"My name is Isthmene," she added, and Torquil looked up at her again, this time in surprise.

"Did you say-?" Oswyn murmured, but the rest of the words apparently died in his throat.

The lady Isthmene smiled at the younger man. "I heard my name. It was unexpected, to say the least, especially from an unfamiliar traveler come so far as Turold-Erig."

Torquil exchanged a nervous but excited look with Oswyn. This was the lady Isthmene of which their old companion Darro had spoken, the woman who had occupied days and nights alike of prayers and stories and songs. Torquil himself had not believed Darro's stories (even rogues were susceptible to flights of fancy and imagined adventures, from time to time), but standing here before him was the living, irrefutable, beautiful truth.

It was a moment before Torquil realized that he was still holding on to the lady Isthmene's hand like some dumbstruck simpleton. He released her hand immediately and straightened up. "Please forgive us, milady."

She chuckled. "No need, sir." She inclined her head toward the main doors to the Council chamber. "You have had audience with my father this morning, have you not?"

Torquil replied that they had, but he was careful to leave out the part about them being dismissed. However, Oswyn had no such compunction against speaking his mind in the matter.

"For all of the good it did us," the outrider grumbled. "We were sent to retrieve an artifact for the King, and your father dismissed us like so much twaddle."

Torquil briefly considered strangling the younger man - there was that bold, outspoken nature coming out again! - but the lady Isthmene swiftly allayed any fears he may have had of noble repercussions.

"Artifact? You speak of the Stone of Behal'Ahn?" She asked, and Titch nodded in response. "You came to take it back with you to Turold-Erig?"

This time, Torquil nodded in reply. "Young Oswyn speaks out-of-turn, milady," and here he shot Oswyn a withering glare. "We did come on behalf of King Colwyn of Turold-Erig. And he did request that we try to bring the artifact back to his kingdom. But your father - but Lord Ilgoyre is in his right to keep the stone with your people."

The lady Isthmene seemed to consider this. "My father is skeptical of the young King of Turold-Erig," she said at last. "I would speak to him on your behalf, but I fear it would do little good."

Torquil waved away the offer. "There is no need, milady. We will leave on the morrow and your father will no longer need to hear from us." He bowed again, low at the waist in deference to her station as well as her sex. "Good day to you."

She nodded her head. "To you, as well," she said.

Torquil led Oswyn and Titch toward the entranceway, when she called out to them again. They turned, almost as one, at her summons.

She crossed to them, her slippered feet nearly soundless on the polished marble floor. When her guardsmen began to follow her, she stopped them with one raised hand, so that she approached the travelers alone. She looked straight at Torquil. "I am curious as to this other Isthmene. How did she come by my name?"

Torquil felt suddenly foolish, and a tad uneasy. "This other Isthmene is...a horse, milady."

"The finest mare," Oswyn interjected, as if that would ease any of the shock that she would undoubtedly feel.

"I see," she murmured, her pretty brow furrowed in thought.

Torquil continued: "An old friend told us the name. He used to name his own horses that."

"Your friend...where is he now?"

Torquil thought of poor Darro, an arrow through his chest and long lost to the swamps of the Wyn'Nah Mabrug. There was no easy way of saying it, so he answered simply: "He is dead, milady. His name was Darro, and he died nobly in the service of King Colwyn."

She faltered at the mention of Darro's name, but with some supreme effort she masked her emotions again. She blinked rapidly once, then twice, and Torquil could see that she was blinking away tears. She took a deep breath, then whispered to him: "Please do not leave the city without seeing me again. You are staying at the Eagle's Roost, yes?"

Torquil nodded, as did Oswyn and Titch.

She took Torquil's hand in both of hers, and it was similar to the sensation of dipping his fingers in cool, still water. "Will you meet me at the stable of the Eagle's Roost, then?" She swallowed. "I should like to see this other Isthmene." She squeezed his hand with a strength he did not think her capable of. "Tonight. Please?"

He nodded again, unable to refuse this odd but heartfelt request.

She smiled at him one more time, and then she made her way back to her guards. They escorted her through the doors to the Council chamber, and all three men were left to wonder after her mystery.

When they told the story to Nirien, she could make no more sense of it than they had been able to do.

"I suppose," she said with a chuckle, "if there was a horse with my name out there, I might want to see it, as well."

"We should not have told her about Darro," Oswyn muttered, as he took another stab at the food on his plate.

Torquil moved his fork around his plate. "No," he said after considering the suggestion. "I think there is more to this meeting than seeing your horse. Something to do very much with Darro. We were right to tell her."

At Nirien's query about who Darro was, and what was his relationship to Isthmene (both horse and lady), Torquil told her the story. He left out some of the harsher details about life as a thief and renegade, although he was fairly certain that she had already guessed much of what his life as a rogue must have been like.

Nirien seemed touched by the idea of the star-crossed lovers Darro and Isthmene. When she asked Torquil if he knew if Isthmene had loved Darro as much as Darro had loved her, he did not know how to reply. The tears on the lady Isthmene's face when she heard of Darro's death seemed to intimate that she had loved him, although Torquil admitted that knowing the hearts of women was not one of his more reliable skills.

"It's terrible that they were forced apart," Nirien murmured, rolling her cup of drink between her palms. "And only because he was not of noble blood. It seems... wrong."

Torquil sighed. "Being a noble and having nobility are sometimes, sadly, mutually exclusive."

Nirien sat back in her seat and shook her head. "Still. To love, and yet have it be denied to you by someone else's rules. It's horrible."

"It is a road I have not traveled," Torquil said. He stood up from the table and tossed some coin down amidst their used dishes and cups. "And I do not wish to."

Nirien followed him, as did Oswyn and Titch. "So will you meet her tonight?" the girl asked.

Torquil blinked slowly at her. "Nirien, had you seen the look in her eyes, you would not have been able to refuse her, either."


	6. Chapter 6

**VI**

_Once more, the skies of Krull were filled with dragons. But this time, they were led not by their Queen alone, but by Man, as well. As one, they soared across the cloudless skies of the Overland; the churning blue seas of the Great Expanse; the fierce, fiery depths of the volcanoes of Bel'Halur; the snow-capped mountains of the Cyrnwyn Heights; these and all in-between._

_At last, they came to the edge of the final sea that men call the Istmal, and the dragon Queen and the Man plunged together into the deepening blue. This was her death, and his, too, and fear gripped the heart of Ahn that still beat within the dragon queen's breast. But to what was left of him alone, Behal spoke:_

_"This is the fate of our union. Neither your kind nor mine could stop the change that was wrought when I devoured you. Only here will we be forever together."_

_"You promised power," Ahn cried, as he felt the edges of who he was slipping away into the long, great dark. "You promised that we would be unstoppable."_

_"And we are," Behal replied as the last of her fire went out. _

* * *

In the scheme of things, a day in the city of Bellan was not any longer than any other day in any other city. But with the prospect of a clandestine meeting with a noblewoman hanging over his head, it made the daylight hours drag on in Torquil's mind. He had taken to his room for the remainder of the day, while his companions whittled away the hours of the afternoon playing day-trippers. He heard the three of them return near dusk, laughing about this new trinket or that new bauble.

Together, they had a fair sum of money, and Torquil had told them that he didn't care what they did with it, so long as he would not be held responsible for any of their transactions. He did not want to make himself or them any more conspicuous in this city than they already were.

Titch had had his eyes on a set of balancing coins - the like used by prestidigitators - in the market square since that morning. And, sure enough, when he returned to the inn, he was practicing rolling those same coins over his knuckles.

Oswyn, he knew, was likely to come back with something polished and sharp, as suited his however-subjugated thieving sensibilities. Torquil had once told Colwyn that the younger thief was much like a cat - quick, quiet, and easily distracted by anything shiny or pretty.

Torquil had no idea what would interest Nirien, but he eventually reasoned that even if he had spent more time with her, her personal tastes would probably still be a secret to him.

As for himself, Torquil spent the majority of his alone time staring up at the ceiling of his suite. Boring, certainly, but he was grateful for the solitude. Over the course of his life, he had not often been awarded the commodity of some quiet personal time; living on the run from the law and her enforcers tended to make a man jittery.

His proposed meeting with the lady Isthmene still bothered him. Not because he did not trust her, but because he had been given no clue as to what to expect from her. For all he really knew about her, she could be a simpleton and might actually be interested in meeting a horse. That would certainly put his more outlandish theories as to her nature to shame.

No, a lady of her stature and standing would not reduce herself for something so whimsical. There was something more important at stake. He swore that he had felt something... significant pass between them earlier. Lying there on his bed, he would have sworn his life on it.

As night fell, though, he became less sure of the lady Isthmene's resolve, and less sure of his own. He was pulling on his boots when Nirien came to his half-ajar door and knocked on the outside frame.

"Father?" She asked into the dim room.

"Yes," Torquil answered as he stood up, kicking the toe of his right boot to the floor. "You may enter."

Nirien did so. She was wearing her light armor pieces on her legs, but she had left the breastpiece and armguards off, leaving only the light but tight-fitting under-tunic on her chest and arms. Consequently, she looked somewhat bottom-heavy but also vulnerable in a way.

Torquil smiled. "You look as though you're preparing for a battle."

She bowed her head. "I would like to go with you when you meet this woman."

He chuckled. "You have that little faith in my own ability to protect myself?"

Nirien shrugged. "Men are easily mystified by beauty. I have no such weakness."

Torquil crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Is that so?" He asked with a touch of goading sarcasm. "And what if the Lady Isthmene should happen to have a handsome young guard with her? What then?"

She smiled. "I am familiar with the type. I assure you, I am not so easily swayed, even by a handsome young guard."

She may have been right about being on her guard about the lady Isthmene, but Torquil was well aware that that was not all that they were talking about here. He had made the veiled reference to Oswyn on purpose, to see if she would bite on the bait. He was not disappointed in her sly reply.

Torquil nodded. "Well then, since you make your case so plainly, it would be unwise for me to refuse." He directed her toward the door. "Now, fetch Titch and Oswyn for me, all right? We shall wait together to see what the mysterious Lady Isthmene wants to share with us."

Nirien bowed respectfully and did as she was bade to do. She returned a few moments later with both Titch and Oswyn. Titch looked much more excited than any of them, but while Oswyn did not display the same sort of agitation, Torquil noticed that the younger man had the grips of his swords unhooked from their scabbards.

They left the front doors of the inn as a clique, but when no extra glances were cast their way, Torquil figured out that they probably looked the same as any other visiting dignitary coterie. As popular as the Eagle's Roost was, the innkeepers most likely had had their fair share of special interest groups and subsequently paid the quartet little heed beyond what was necessary to do good business with the Council of Lords.

They made their way out to the stables, and Oswyn and Nirien both greeted their steeds with happy salutations. There was no one else in the low-built building, so the small party took the moment to relax, and Torquil took the time to compose his thoughts for when the lady Isthmene arrived, if she ever would.

He had little reason to doubt her, though, because within a very short period of time, she came padding into the stable. Even with a cloak and hood, Torquil recognized her smooth, easy gait, and the fall of white-gold hair from beneath her hood. She had one arm tucked within the cloak, and she seemed to be clutching something - a box? She was also conspicuously alone.

Torquil bowed to her. "Milady." He indicated the mare standing in her stall. "This is, er, Isthmene."

The lady smiled in acknowledgement, and she took a moment to peruse the animal. "She is quite beautiful," she agreed.

Oswyn nodded and patted the horse's neck. "The finest in the land."

Off to the side, Nirien cleared her throat, but Torquil was not interested in the little battle of bragging rights between his daughter and his guard. He extended his hand to the lady, indicating with a flick of his wrist her arm beneath her cloak. "Are you in need of aid?"

The lady Isthmene shook her head. "No, I thank you." She pulled a deceptively large box out from under the folds of her dark cloak and passed it over to Torquil. "This is for you."

Quizzically, Torquil accepted the strange gift and opened it. His eyes went wide. Lying inside the box, surrounded by soft gold-and-scarlet silk, was the chiseled ruby of the Stone of Behal'Ahn. "Milady, this is..."

She nodded. "Yes," she said simply, as if afraid to invoke its name for fear that her theft would be discovered here and now. "Please, take it. But you must be gone before the Council of Lords realizes that it is missing."

Torquil made to pass the box back to her. "Milady, we cannot take this."

"We can't?" Oswyn echoed from beside his nickering mare.

Torquil glared at him. "No. We cannot." He turned to the noblewoman. "Please understand, Lady Isthmene. We came here on behalf of King Colwyn. I will not be labeled - or, by association, have him labeled - a thief."

"I will take responsibility for the Stone," the noblewoman assured them. She pushed the box back toward Torquil. "If my beloved Darro believed in your King Colwyn enough to die for him, then I can do no less than believe in him, as well. My father is closed-minded about the welfare of Bellan in relation to the other lands of Krull. We should be united, not squabbling amongst ourselves like dogs begging for scraps from a master's table." She reached out and closed Torquil's fingers around the edges of the box. "Please, do this for me. And for whatever loyalty you may have once had to the man who would have been my husband in another time and place."

Torquil looked back down into the box, at the ruby he held between his hands. He closed the lid on the artifact and considered the options remaining to them. They could return the artifact, and save face with the Bellan Council, but in so doing betray the wishes of the only friend that they had in this city, and fail in their quest. Or they could take the artifact back to the White Castle with them, fulfilling the purpose of their journey, but perhaps leave that same friend to suffer for the sake of a quest of which she had no part.

He decided, finally, that the only answer truly open to him was that he had as much of a duty to this noblewoman as he did to anyone else.

"You have my word, milady," Torquil said, bowing to her again. "We will bring the Stone of Behal'Ahn to King Colwyn. And I shall be sure to inform him that it was only with your aid that we were able to do so."

The lady Isthmene returned his bow, a rare gesture of equality from a noble to a common man. "Your regard for your king is clear in your actions. This much I have seen in your trust of me, and the love you held for Darro. You have nothing to fear of reprimand from the Bellan Council of Lords. I will deal with them accordingly."

"You will be safe?" Nirien asked, stepping forward. She laid her spear against her shoulder, its point away from the lady.

The lady Isthmene nodded and smiled knowingly at the girl. "Times are changing. I know that you have seen it, as well, by the weapon you carry." She took a step toward Nirien and dropped her voice to a hush, so that even Torquil had trouble hearing.

"I will tell you the secret of the artifact that you will bear back to your king," the noblewoman said, presumably just assuming that Nirien was of even standing as Torquil or Oswyn or Titch, and not just a commoner girl. "The secret of the Stone of Behal'Ahn is that women have a story and power of their own." She reached out and drew her slender, manicured fingers along the shaft of the spear, her eyes roving the lines of the simple metal. "It is neither beyond nor different from the power of men, but equal. The Council of Lords knows this. It is why they will listen to me when I tell them my story."

Even though he heard every word, Torquil did not quite understand the meaning behind it. But he saw something very much like insight pass between the lady Isthmene and his daughter, and Nirien nodded to the woman.

The lady Isthmene held Nirien's gaze for a moment longer, and then she turned to Torquil quickly. "But until the Council of Lords convenes, and I have a chance to speak with them, you should make your way as far from Bellan as you can. Are you prepared to make such a journey this night?"

Torquil glanced around at his companions. They still had items to collect from their rooms, but that would take very little time. He was more concerned with their ability to ride away from the city at night. There was a good chance that the city militia would pay them as little heed leaving as they had when the travelers arrived, but he was concerned about the state of the horses, and their riders.

He turned a blank look upon his compatriots.

Oswyn seemed to understand exactly what Torquil was thinking. The younger man nodded to his leader. "The horses are well-rested. We should be fine to travel tonight."

As Nirien added her assent, and she stepped toward the farther stalls to release the locks, Torquil turned to Titch. "And you, young master? Can you ride this night?"

Titch's eyes were wide, but they were clear. He gave Torquil a firm, definite nod. "I can do no less than my part," he said, with a wisdom that seemed far beyond his scant years.

Torquil laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and smiled. "Good."

The lady Isthmene bowed low at the waist again. "I must leave you now. Should you or your young king require the assistance of Bellan in the future, you shall have it. Your honesty has earned you my trust." She made for the stable doors, and turned back at the last moment. "Farewell, and good journey," she said, and then with a flap of her cloak she was gone.

Torquil stared after the space left by her shadow for a heartbeat. Then he turned to his companions. "Oswyn, Nirien, prep the horses. Titch and I will collect the remainder of our gear. Be ready to ride as soon as we return."

The two riders agreed and started the task of securing saddles and equipment to the four horses.

Torquil led Titch back toward the inn, and they moved toward the stairs making as little fuss as possible. There were still small clusters of patrons moving about the lower level of the inn, but they paid little attention to the Lord-Marshall, if any at all; one guest was just like any other. They got to the top of the steps without incident, and Torquil sent Titch to gather their supplies from the servants' quarters while he himself made certain that he was leaving nothing behind in his own suite.

It was only when he moved to shove his gloves into his satchel that he noticed he was still carrying the box with the artifact in his hands. He probably should have left it with Oswyn and Nirien in the stables below, but it seemed to have some sort of hold over him. It was not the physical stone itself, so much as the aura that it seemed to possess; the thing felt almost alive.

Knowing full well that he was tempting fate stopping thus, Torquil sat down on the bed and opened the box again, to give the stone another close look.

The edges were not chiseled, as he had at first thought. Rather, they looked almost broken, as if this piece had been dislodged - with great speed but limited skill - from a greater stone. The thief in him was disgusted at the job that had been done on this stone; in his hands, the artifact would have been cut cleanly from its source, then polished to make the edges less sloppy. Of course, in his thieving days, he probably would have then tried to sell the stone, without realizing - or even bothering to try to discover - its true inherent value.

What was that value? If the stone was not a Seer's channeling gem (and Titch seemed to think that it was not), then what was it? It was not a ruby in the traditional sense; Torquil had enough knowledge from his freebooting days to know that much. Then what could it be?

As if he could hear his name in the Lord-Marshall's thoughts, Titch suddenly appeared at the door. He was carrying two packs over each shoulder, and a larger pack in his thin arms. "I am ready," he said, his breath already making reedy sounds through his nose.

Torquil stood. "Yes, of course." He closed the box and secured it with a length of thin leather, then tucked it beneath one arm. He picked up his own satchel and tossed it over his shoulder with his free arm. "Come on, then."

They hurried down the stairs two and three at a time (Titch making one and two at a time with his shorter legs), and eased past the cavorting patrons. They caught the eye of the innkeeper, and Torquil flashed the man a pleased grin, and they continued on their way without incident.

Upon arriving in the stables, they found Nirien and Oswyn waiting for them, the horses at the ready. The two riders took their respective packs from poor encumbered Titch, and then Nirien helped the boy into Damma's saddle.

Torquil passed the locked box into Oswyn's hands once the outrider had swung up onto Isthmene's back. "This is your charge, now," he muttered gravely. "Guard that stone as you might my life."

To his credit, Oswyn said nothing; he merely nodded dutifully and tucked the box into a saddle bag, and then secured it closed with a yank of a belt. He pulled up on Isthmene's reins and started her toward the open stable doors. He glanced backward.

Torquil pulled himself into Arno's saddle and caught Oswyn's eye. "Go," he said as he settled onto the gelding's back. He gave an urging look to both Nirien and Titch, as well. "Go now. I'll follow."

Oswyn needed no further prodding. With a sharp whistle and a kick, he pushed Isthmene into a sudden gallop, and the two of them were away down the main thoroughfare before Torquil could even spur Arno to a trot.

As Nirien and Titch both followed Isthmene's swiftly-fading hoofbeats, Torquil cast a quick look over his shoulder into the empty stable. He felt that, somewhere in this city, the lady Isthmene was hoping for their quick and safe journey, and he gave silent thanks for her prayers.

Then he, too, was away, the buildings flying past his vision so that their sconces of torchlight cast streaming ribbons of light against the darkness.

The four of them rode at a full-on gallop until daybreak, when Torquil called out for a halt. Arno was straining at his reins, his teeth pulled back from his bit as he struggled to keep pace, and Torquil was concerned for the young gelding.

The two faster horses - Isthmene and Biro - came back in the riding line to them, and Nirien looked around.

"I don't think we're in any danger here," she said. She slid from Biro's back and pulled loose one of the water skins.

Oswyn guided Isthmene through a trotting circle around the little party. Despite the impressive charging she'd done, she was still fired up, stamping her hooves on the ground. He looked out toward the horizon. "No one's been following us, that's certain."

Torquil nodded as he dropped from Arno's back. He accepted the water skin from Nirien and filled one of the drinking gourds for the gelding. "I'd be more trusting of your paranoia than your eyes. But I would tend to agree."

"Are we resting here?" Titch asked.

Torquil nodded and helped the boy ease down from the saddle. "We should be able to take a moment."

As Titch touched the ground, he looked up at Oswyn. "May I see the stone again? I've been wondering about it."

Oswyn glanced at Torquil, and at the Lord-Marshall's brief nod, he unlocked the satchel from Isthmene's saddle bag and handed it to Titch.

The boy took the box with both hands, taking care not to disturb the contents too much. He unwrapped the leather ties around the box and opened the lid gingerly. He peered inside with wide green eyes, letting go a long, low breath. "It's so beautiful," he muttered as he craned his head back and forth to examine the stone.

"I looked at it before," Torquil told him. "Couldn't figure out what's so special about the thing, though."

Titch sat down, cross-legged, with the box in his small lap. He lifted the stone out of the box and rolled it over between his thin hands. "There's something...familiar about this stone."

Torquil peered over the youth's shoulder, as Nirien and Oswyn drew closer, as well. "I thought that you said it was not a Seer's ruby."

Titch cocked his head, and his quizzical face with its upturned nose and wide-set eyes reflected back at them, like a strangely-colored twin, in the stone's myriad facets. He squinted into the stone's edges. "It isn't. At least, I don't think so. Yet it feels like I should know it, as if I've seen it before, or held it before."

Oswyn squatted down on one side, and Nirien on the other, and they each mimicked Titch's posture in a strange, almost comical, show. The outrider put out a hand on Titch's shoulder to steady himself, and the girl laid her palm upon his gloved hand, gripping it loosely as she stared into the depths of the stone.

Torquil cast a sidelong glance at his companions and smiled, when Titch distracted him with a gasp. He looked back at the stone, which had suddenly commanded all of their attentions, with good reason.

The stone had begun, very subtly, to glow.

"Oh, gods," Nirien murmured, and she stood up and staggered backward. She stumbled on her heel and fell onto her backside, with her legs splayed out in front of her.

Oswyn broke from Titch, as well, to help Nirien to her feet, and as he did so Torquil noticed that the stone faded again, curiously.

Titch peered closely into the edges of the stone, as if trying to will it to glow again. "Did you see that?"

"Put it away," Nirien said, her voice hitching in her throat. She clung tightly to Oswyn's arm as he brought her to her feet again.

"I did see," Torquil muttered, ignoring his daughter's outburst. He knelt next to Titch and put his hand on the boy's shoulder, but the stone had gone dark once more. He stared deep into its heart, hoping to incite the stone to action again, but to no avail. Finally, he stood up himself. "Best put it away. We can look again later."

Titch nodded. "All right," he said, a little sadly. He laid the stone back in the box and secured it again. He stood up and returned the box into the satchel and passed it back to Oswyn.

Torquil told them to mount up again, and they did so (Nirien giving the bag with the stone a conspicuously wide berth), while the Lord-Marshall could only wonder after what had made the stone burn so suddenly and then just as suddenly fade again.

They made it back to the forest's edge that night. Once the horses had been fed and secured, Torquil let Titch pull out the stone once more. The boy immediately started making notes and little drawings in his journal book, while the three other travelers sat nearby and kept casting interested and (in Nirien's case) uneasy glances at both boy and stone.

Oswyn chuckled at the girl. "You look scared by that thing," he said with a grin. He sucked the last bit of meat from his apple and then tossed the core into the campfire.

Nirien narrowed her eyes at him. "I have good reason," she muttered. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "That stone is not of this world."

Titch did not glance up, but he turned his head to the side so that he could pay better attention to their conversation. "How can you know that? I see no proof of it here." He turned the stone over in his lap and looked for some evidence of Nirien's hypothesis.

Torquil smiled at his daughter. "Titch is our resident expert on the subject of all things strange," he said with a snicker.

Nirien was not amused. "I don't know how you can't just feel that there's something wrong with it. Something other-worldly."

Now Titch did look up. "I agree that there is something odd about the stone. But I don't know that I would call it wrong, simply because we do not understand it."

"I still don't like it," the girl said.

Oswyn shifted closer to her and tsk-ed beneath his breath. "I can't believe that a self-proclaimed warrior is so frightened of a rock. What a girl you are."

Torquil chuckled at this good-natured needling of his daughter; she had confidence bordering on conceit, and he thought it healthy for her to receive a comeuppance every now and again.

Nirien stood up from Oswyn. "It has nothing to do with me being a girl," she protested.

Torquil was about to laugh, when he recalled the noblewoman's words from the night previous. His face fell. "Perhaps it does." He turned to Titch. "What was it that Lady Isthmene said, about the stone having power for women?"

Titch's eyes brightened. "She said something about the stone being evidence of a woman's story, of a woman's power." He grinned, realization dawning on his face. "Nirien!"

The girl looked wary. "What is it?"

Titch extended the stone toward her. "Take the stone - maybe it will work for you!"

Nirien shook her head vehemently and backed away even further. "No."

Oswyn stood up and reached for her. "Don't be silly. Come here."

"No, I said!" She staggered backward, and it was only Oswyn's seeking grasp that prevented her from falling again. As it was, she unbalanced him enough to cause them to stumble together to the ground in a jumble of knees and hands.

Titch stood and walked over to them, the stone held in his hands like a present. "Take it, Nirien," he urged. "I promise, it won't hurt you."

"You can't make that promise," Nirien told him.

Torquil shook his head. "This is ridiculous. Just hold the damned thing for a moment. Just to see what happens."

Suitably cowed by this pressure, Nirien reached out toward the stone that Titch was now trying to pass to her. She accepted the artifact in both of her hands, fingers slightly a-tremble. She drew it close to her, to stare into its surface. It took a moment, but the stone reacted to her touch as Torquil had expected.

For the second time that day, the heart of the stone flared briefly and then seemed to burn from its own inner light.

"No," Nirien muttered as she shook her head in disbelief.

"What did you do?" Titch asked, honestly curious. The light from the artifact gave his face an almost impish glow. "I didn't realize you knew how to perform magic."

"I don't!" Nirien told him, in a near panic. She held out her arms, as if trying to pass it away again to one of them. "Someone, take this thing!"

Oswyn moved over to her quickly and took the stone from her hands. At the loss of contact with the girl, the artifact faded perceptibly, until it was lifeless in his hands. He snorted derisively. "All things considered, I don't see what's so special about a glowing rock."

Torquil suppressed the urge to slap the outrider in the back of the head. While he didn't understand what was so important about the artifact, either, he knew that it ñwas- important in some way. He sat down in thoughtful silence, as Oswyn put the stone away again.

Titch seemed just as despondent as Torquil felt. He looked a little sadly at Nirien. "I can't understand why it reacts so differently to you."

Nirien stood up and rubbed her hands on her thighs. "I don't care about the reason. I just want to be rid of the thing."

Torquil pursed his lips. "Something about Nirien being a woman," he mused.

Titch agreed. "That much I understand. But what is it about being a woman?"

Torquil stared intently at his daughter. A thought from before came back to him - something about the mysteries of womankind. Was the stone the answer to those mysteries, or just another question? Lyssa might know, or Colwyn. The both of them had experience with the ancient magicks of Krull.

Following the different paths of logic was like playing three different strategy games at the same time. With a defeated sigh, Torquil told them, "This is beyond our abilities, I think. We need to get the artifact back to Colwyn, posthaste."

"Aye," Oswyn muttered. "I agree." He went to stand next to Nirien and started to put one arm around her shoulders.

The girl was still visibly shaken from her encounter with the artifact. She eyed the pack into which the stone was held, and she rubbed at her arms. Although, to Torquil, she seemed not so much frightened as merely unsettled.

"Are you all right?" Torquil asked her in a quiet voice.

Nirien nodded almost imperceptibly.

Titch moved close to her and touched her hand. "I am sorry, Nirien. I meant no harm."

She looked down at the younger boy and smiled warmly. She put her palm on his cheek, a gesture of familiarity that made the boy beam. "I know, Titch." She jerked her head at the pack containing the stone. "Promise me that you'll be careful with that thing, though."

Titch nodded in reply, though Torquil could see in the boy's eyes that he was fairly itching to examine the stone further.

"Let's get some rest, now," Torquil told them. He volunteered to take the first watch, but Nirien disagreed, claiming that she was wound too tightly for sleep. With an equitable shrug, Torquil let her have her way, and he settled down for a few hours.

He woke later, having slept long enough to develop a dull pain in his neck from his sleeping angle. He took a quick glance around the little circle of their temporary camp and saw Titch curled up on his side and breathing easily. Oswyn was dozing not far away from the boy, one arm beneath his ear as a makeshift pillow. As for Nirien, she sat across the dying fire from Torquil, staring mutely into the embers.

"Is it my watch?" Torquil asked her, his voice hoarse from sleep.

She did not look up at him. "Do you think that it's true?"

He sat up and rubbed at the protesting muscles in his neck. "What's that, now?"

This time she did look back at him, her eyes locked onto his. "Do you think that the stone really does have power for me?"

Torquil shrugged in all honesty. "You saw the same thing that I did. The stone seems to react only to you. Whether that's because of who you are or what you are, that I cannot say."

"Will your king know the answer?"

"Your king, too," Torquil told her with a glib smile.

Nirien seemed to ignore the correction, most likely because she didn't want to get into an argument of semantics with her father, and because she had more pressing subjects on her mind. "I know my skills as a rider, and with my spear. But I have never had power, not the kind of power that the stone represents." She shivered, and it looked to Torquil that she almost flickered in the firelight. "I don't know why anyone would want that kind of power. It's frightening."

Torquil smiled. "That fear you feel - the fear of unknown power? That's healthy. I'd be more concerned if you were lusting for it."

She shook her head emphatically. "No. That, I cannot imagine. I am perfectly happy being a simple peasant girl."

Torquil's smile turned gentle. "Nirien, you are anything but a simple peasant girl. Now, get some sleep."

She stood and returned his smile from across the top of the fire. She circled the low flames to come and stand before him, when she reached down and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Father," she whispered. Then she walked around him to where the boys were sleeping and settled down halfway between both of them. She rolled onto her side so that she was looking at him for a moment longer, and then she closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep.

Torquil chuckled at the simplicity of his honesty. When had he become so sentimental? Had his daughter wrought this change in him? Or had it happened earlier, when he had found Lona, and invited the young widow and her daughter to accompany them on this king's quest? Or had it perhaps happened even earlier than that, when he had placed his blind faith in a bold boy who would become a king?

Regardless, Torquil suddenly felt that this was the first time on this journey - perhaps even ever - that he truly felt like a father.

He stood and walked over to the dozing Arno. He was careful not to disturb the horse too much (he didn't want any commotion waking the rest of his companions) as he pulled out his axe and its whetstone. Sitting once more in front of the fire, he began the calming routine of sharpening the glinting axe blade, while he mused over what kind of man took nearly twenty years to get to know his own daughter.

* * *

It took considerably less time for them to travel from Bellan to Nirien's home near Erameth than it had first going out; with fewer stops and shorter nights, they managed to shave nearly a day and a half off of their travel time. The closer they got to Erameth, the harder that both Nirien and Torquil drove their horses.

When the house came into view across the plains, a grin broke out on Nirien's face. She flashed a wink to Oswyn. "I'll race you to the house," she said.

Oswyn peered down to Isthmene with a smile. "What do you think, girl?" Then, without warning, he rose up in the saddle and clapped her reins, leaving a heavier trail of dirt and dust in their wake.

Nirien gaped after him. "Oh, not fair!" She shouted after him, kicking Biro to a gallop.

Torquil spurred Arno harder, and Titch did the same with Damma. They trailed the two racing thoroughbreds, but Torquil could clearly see even from this distance that Oswyn's heart (and perhaps Nirien's, as well) was not in the race. The outrider knew - just as Torquil did - that their arrival at the house meant that their travel time with Nirien was at an end. She had made her intentions known the night before, when they had been discussing the last leg of their journey before they were back in familiar surroundings.

"I can arrange for Alraune to return with you to the White Castle," she had told them over the final crumbs of her dinner.

The three original travelers had stopped mid-motion to look at her.

"You're not coming with us?" Oswyn had asked finally, his voice betraying more disappointment than his expression had.

Nirien had shaken her head then, with some perceptible amount of sadness. "No. Bethe and Baran can't make that journey, yet, and I won't leave them." She had looked up, to offer the outrider a smile. "They'll be old enough come the spring, though. Perhaps we can visit then." She had turned to her father then, with a look of apology on her face. "If that's fine with you."

Torquil had not known what to say. The fact that she had essentially asked his permission had touched him deeply. Without thinking fully through the possible ramifications of his answer, he had said, "You're old enough to make your own decisions."

Now, Torquil saw Nirien pull Biro to a stop as she crossed the threshold of the property first. She was laughing, but there was little more than passing joy in it. Her eyes met Torquil's, even far away, and there was something like sadness there. But there was relief, too. Torquil felt the same.

Upon reaching the edge of the stable yard, Torquil saw Oswyn dismount and join Nirien in guiding their horses past the fence. They unbelted saddles, packs, and weapons in silence until Torquil and Titch joined them.

Nirien grinned at her companions. "It looks like I won this time," she said, and she chuckled beneath her breath.

Oswyn nodded and smiled at her. "It looks that way," he said. He gave Isthmene a gentle pat on the forehead before shooing her lightly away.

Nirien copied his gesture with Biro. She squinted at her rival. "You never did decide what you wanted for winning last time, did you?"

"No, I suppose I didn't," Oswyn told her. He shrugged. "It isn't so much about the winning, for me... more the race."

Nirien snickered. She eyed him carefully. "Well, I know the prize I'll claim," she said, and grinned with more than a touch of mischief.

Torquil unhooked the saddle from Arno's back and tossed it to the ground. He had no idea what Nirien was talking about, but he recognized the playful smile on her lips; Mirane had often favored that look when she wanted something.

"And what might that be?" Oswyn asked, eying her curiously.

Nirien wrinkled her nose at them, and then waved toward the house. Jonnad was jogging toward them, waving his arms in greeting, with Ysen not far behind.

"Welcome back!" Jonnad cried, as both boys nearly tackled their sister in a fierce tandem hug.

"I hope you were good for Lona," Torquil said with a grin.

Ysen nodded dutifully. "Father, you should see what we got for that traded horse! Two whole mutton chops! One is nearly as big as my head!"

Nirien ruffled her youngest brother's hair. "I hope you saved some for us! I've seen you eat, little brother."

Ysen gave her a playful shove, and then he hugged her again. "We weren't expecting you back so soon," he said into her chest.

"We left Bellan rather quickly," Oswyn told him.

"With success?" Jonnad asked.

Torquil shrugged. "In some ways, yes." He caught a motion from the doorway of the house, and he glanced up that way. Lona was standing in the door, with little Kela clinging to her skirts.

Torquil started. He had seen that scene before, many years earlier. Except it was not Lona that he had seen, but Mirane. And the girl hugging her mother's skirts was not Kela, but Nirien - small, round-faced, with her dark hair pulled back with thin ties. How sweet a scene that was to return home to.

Torquil looked up at the daughter-that-was-now, and he was struck suddenly by how adult she looked. She was laughing with her brothers, who shared the same dark hair and eyes as she. But where he had always thought that any daughter of his would be a lady (not in the nobility sense, of course), dressed in long skirts and tight-fitting blouses with frills on the cuffs, here was a warrior standing before him: hair chopped short to fit beneath a helmet, built thin and sinewy for riding and fighting, and wearing armor. His militia armor, of all things! How did the nature of women change so much from when he was a young man...?

Perhaps that alone was the secret of the Stone of Behal'Ahn. Women had power, and that power was to change.

Nirien was looking at him strangely. "Father?" She asked, and her voice broke him from his reverie.

Torquil nodded toward his children. "Yes, we were successful," he reiterated. He extended an arm to them in gratitude. "Come. I should like to see this mutton of the ages."

Ysen laughed and took Torquil's hand, and he led him back to the house.

Lona greeted the Lord-Marshall simply with a smile, but within that smile there was such relief and admiration, he nearly lost his heart to her right then and there.

The other three travelers followed him into the house, where there was warm tea and cool ale to greet them (Nirien and Oswyn helped themselves to small helpings of the amber ale, while Titch was allowed only tea), and Lona promised them a dinner to sate their wanting appetites. Over second and third offerings of ale and tea, the little party told their tale of the journey to Bellan, the sights of the street faire, their conference with the Council of Lords, and their clandestine meeting with the Lady Isthmene.

When Jonnad asked after the lady's safety, Lona said, "There were rumors even in Lameksis that many of the Lords were losing power. Perhaps she's involved with some kind of coup?"

Torquil downed another gulp of ale and shrugged. "Lord Ilgoyre is getting old. Maybe she's taking his place as head of the Council."

Nirien grinned. "A Council of Ladies? That sounds interesting."

Torquil snickered. "More likely, still a Council of Lords, just with women as well as men."

Oswyn snorted. "The majority of nobles are all the same, whether in pants or a dress."

"That's not fair," Titch said, setting down his cup. "Lady Isthmene took a great risk to aid us."

Oswyn snorted again. "I think she just wanted to get rid of that stone, and we were a convenient method for meeting that end."

Torquil could see the prosaic insight in Oswyn's opinion. He looked pointedly at Nirien. "Perhaps she simply didn't want the influence that comes with such an artifact. Not all people are comfortable with such power."

Nirien looked down into her mug. "Perhaps you're right," she agreed.

"Can we see the stone?" Ysen asked his father.

Torquil shook his head; he was still looking at Nirien. "Not right now. Perhaps later, though." He smiled. "Your sister will have plenty of time to tell you about our journey, I'm sure. As for me, I would like to appreciate this opportunity to relax a bit."

Ysen smiled and bowed his head. Refusing to be waylaid, he drew Titch aside and the two of them started muttering conspiratorially together. They hustled up the stairs to the second floor, and Kela scurried after them, not wanting to be left out.

Lona chuckled at the children's antics. She ran her hand along the edge of the table, which looked noticeably cleaner since she had begun her tenure in the household. "Those two have missed you terribly."

Jonnad nodded in agreement. "It's certainly been quieter with just Ysen and Kela to cause trouble."

Torquil snickered at his middle child. "Oh? Are you saying you're not a troublemaker?"

Lona laid a hand on the boy's arm, from across the table. "Jonnad is a prize."

Nirien laughed. "He'll make a good wife someday," she teased.

Jonnad took the jibe in stride, but he gave his sister a needling smile. "Unlike some people I know," he said.

Oswyn pushed away from the table in a sudden, angry clatter of swords. "I'll make sure the horses are secure for the night."

Jonnad looked after the outrider. He shrank a little in his seat. "Did I say something wrong?"

Torquil waved away the concern. "He's just in a mood. He'll get over it."

Nirien sighed, as if sensing the trouble between the travelers. She looked at Torquil. "Are you all right with us staying here?"

Torquil nodded. "I meant what I said. You're free to make your own decisions. And you've earned the right to make decisions for your family, more than me, certainly."

"Staying here?" Jonnad echoed. He looked at his sister quizzically.

Nirien reached out for her brother's hand. "Father invited us to return with him to the White Castle of Turold-Erig."

"And you refused?" Jonnad assumed.

Nirien shook her head. "Not refused. Just postponed." She sighed. "This is Mother's land. We can't simply abandon it. Besides, Bethe is far too young for such a journey." She squeezed his hand. "You understand, don't you?"

Jonnad looked disappointed, but he nodded. "Of course," he said.

Nirien smiled. "Bethe should be ready to make the journey in the spring. I think we can wait that long."

Her brother smiled back and nodded again. He looked at Torquil. "I suppose that means that you'll be leaving in the morning."

Torquil took a deep breath and let it go through his nose. "I think that would be best. The King is expecting our return." He turned to Lona and smiled. "You and Kela should get some rest, as well."

Lona glanced down into her lap, where she ran her hands along the lines of the apron around her waist. "Actually, I was hoping that we could stay here. At least, until everyone is ready to make the trek." She blushed perceptibly and continued to glance down at her hands, presumably so that she didn't have to look him in the eyes. "Kela is happy here, with the boys. She's never had a brother or a sister," and here she looked pointedly at Nirien, "and I would hate to uproot her yet again so soon. I would like to go with you, but for now I feel that I could be of more use here."

Torquil found himself more amused than surprised by this confession. He swept his gaze over the room, which did feel noticeably more homey since Lona's arrival. As a surrogate mother of sorts, she had done an impressive job with both the home and the boys.

Jonnad grinned at the young mother. "We could give you and Kela some riding lessons, for the spring."

Nirien nodded, with something like an apology in the gentleness of her expression. "An extra pair of hands would certainly be helpful during the winter."

Torquil chuckled. "It seems as though you don't need my help making your decision," he said to Lona. He laid one hand upon hers, and the other upon Jonnad's, who was closer than Nirien. "But know that this makes our leaving tomorrow even more difficult."

And it did.

Torquil could not speak for his two companions, but his own rest was fitful, at best. He had spent the majority of the night staring out the second floor window of the bedroom that he had long ago shared with Mirane, watching the clouds drift across the face of the moon. His mind kept wandering over the possibilities of life with Nirien, Jonnad, and Ysen; life with Lona and Kela; life alone. At some point during the night, Lona had settled into bed beside him, not so much for his love but for his comfort. It was with that delightful sensation of her light touch on his back that he had finally fallen asleep.

Now, he looked into the young mother's slightly sleepy eyes and smiled wistfully. "It will be a long winter without you," he said in a soft voice.

Lona returned his smile. "For me, as well." Then she hugged him loosely and sighed into the side of his neck. She stepped away from him and took Kela's hand; the girl gave him a little wave.

Jonnad and Ysen embraced their father together, one low about his waist and the other tight about his shoulders. There were not so many tears this time, though, for which Torquil was grateful. In the short time that he had been with them, they had come to trust in the value of his word.

That left Nirien, who came to stand before him without the trappings of her armor. She was leading Biro, which surprised Torquil. She handed him the reins. "A horse belongs with his master," she muttered, and he could see how much it pained her to relinquish the animal to him.

So Torquil gave the reins back to her. "He is with his master," he told her quietly. "Keep him with you. When I see him coming, I'll know that it is you." He smiled down at her.

Nirien smiled and nodded. She rose up on her toes, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, and kissed him gently. "Thank you," she murmured. She handed Biro's reins to Jonnad, who took them dutifully.

Torquil jerked his head in the direction of Oswyn and Titch, who had hung back to give Torquil a modicum of privacy for his goodbyes. "Say your farewells," he told his daughter.

Nirien nodded, and turned to the two travelers. She looked first at Titch, who smiled winningly at her in return. She put her hand on his shoulder and gripped it firmly. "Your king is quite lucky to have such a gifted young magician as yourself. If anyone can discover the mysteries of the stone, I'm sure you can."

Titch blushed at the compliment and thanked her in a solemn voice. "I'll miss you," he said.

"And I, you," she told him. She kissed him on the cheek, which made the boy blush even more deeply. She chuckled, an airy laugh. Then she stepped over to Oswyn.

The outrider regarded her with a cocked head. "I'll miss our races," he said with forced levity. "You never did tell me what I owed you for winning the last time."

Nirien nodded. She took his gloved hand in her own naked one, and she looked a bit sad that she couldn't touch him skin to skin. "Wait for me," she whispered to him. "I'll come." Then she touched his cheek with her other hand and kissed him deeply. They parted, and Torquil could see that their misery at their separation was lifted just a little by this exchange, though he could not for certain say as to why.

Farewells having been said, the original trio set out toward the White Castle the same way that they had left it, though perhaps a bit more experienced, a bit more lonesome, and a bit more astute.

* * *

The days that it took to return to the Castle became a blur of sunrises and sunsets to Torquil. They passed through the Hyrwyn River country again; Lameksis had not changed. They passed into Andelmar, where they spent another night at the border tower with Praneth and Tarro. The young couple was fascinated by the stories they told, but Torquil's heart was not in the telling. It was not until the White Castle was once more in sight that he felt the swelling in his breast ñ he had come home.

A hunter falcon swooped toward them as they came within sight of the Castle, and Torquil had to smile. He waved to the majestic bird and pulled Arno to a halt. The bird swept down to them, its erratic course making the horses more than a little jittery; falcons were uncommon in these flatlands. But Torquil knew that this was no ordinary falcon.

"That must be you, Ergo," the Lord-Marshall said in greeting.

The bird swept in a low arc around Torquil, finally coming to rest on his outstretched arm. "You have finally returned, little worse for wear, I should say," the falcon said in that strange, airy voice that Ergo had whenever he was transformed. He squawked and gripped his perch firmly.  
Torquil squinted. "Not so tight," he complained, though he smiled as he spoke. He had actually missed Ergo these last few weeks. The magician was always good for a few jests.

Titch sat up in his saddle. "Greetings, Ergo!" He beamed.

The falcon swung its head toward the boy. "I saw you coming from the parapets, and I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on the success of your journey. It was successful, was it not?"

"More or less," Torquil said with a noncommittal shrug.

Ergo ruffled his neck feathers and turned back to Torquil. "Perhaps I should inform Colwyn that a hero's welcome is unnecessary, then. You never were one for showy entrances, were you?"

Torquil was fairly certain that Ergo was only joking about the hero's welcome; the White Castle had an assemblage of troops and staff, but nothing so significant as yet to justify trotting everyone out simply for the Lord-Marshall and his tiny entourage. "No, I prefer subtlety, you are correct."

Titch leaned forward in his saddle. "Do stay with us a while, Ergo. It would be pleasant to have your company until we reach the castle."

"Very well, very well," the falcon replied, amiably enough. "I cannot ignore the pleas of one who has obviously gone without charming companionship for so long."

"That's not true," Titch told him, and Torquil sensed that this response was as much for the sake of his companions' feelings as it was for Ergo's curiosity. "I have learned much on this journey. I've just missed your unique brand of friendship."

"Quite so," Ergo said with a bob of his head. He dropped from Torquil's arm, and almost before he reached the ground, he was himself again.

"You're getting quite good at that." Torquil offered the compliment with a smile.

Ergo brushed at his sleeves. "I have had precious little else to do while you were away hunting down ancient artifacts and, no doubt, charming countless comely country wenches."

Torquil grinned. "What I cannot deny, I will not admit to."

Ergo pointed a finger at him. "A-ha! I knew it!" He turned to the last member of the trio, who had so far remained conspicuously quiet throughout. "And how many pretty hearts did you steal away with this time, my lad?"

Oswyn shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "I'd rather not discuss it, thank you."

Rebuffed thus, the magician offered a sympathetic smile. "Ah. Could it be that that wandering soul finally found a place to rest, only to be evicted?" He snapped his fingers. "Fear not, my friend! I have just the remedy for a fractured heart! A little meat, a little bread, a little wine... well, a lot of wine, actually... and you'll forget her in no time."

Oswyn smiled at the friendly if misguided gesture. "I have no desire to forget. But thank you anyway, Ergo."

Ergo nodded kindly. Perhaps deciding that he didn't want to dwell on this potentially depressing subject, he turned to Titch and clapped his hands, startling the boy from his thoughts. "Well! I shall perch on your shoulder, boy, and you can tell me all about your travels while we finish the ride to the castle." He closed his eyes briefly, and Torquil was about to warn him that a falcon would not be the best idea if he was going to be riding with Titch. But Ergo was already thinking ahead of him, as he transformed himself into a brightly-plumed canary.

Titch accepted the stowaway onto his shoulder, and the remainder of their ride was filled with the boy's broad, simple storytelling and the bird's chirpy laughter.

* * *

Colwyn hailed them from the main gate, and none of the three travelers had ever been so happy to see him. He looked just as tall and handsome and heroic as he ever did, perhaps moreso now because the smile on his face was reserved solely for them.

Torquil slid from his saddle and greeted Colwyn warmly, his handshake becoming a less formal fraternal embrace. "Gods, I've missed this place," the Lord-Marshall remarked.

"Your absence was deeply felt," Colwyn told him. "I'm glad that you have returned safely, though. Do you require anything ñ food, rest?"

Torquil was grateful that Colwyn did not immediately start haranguing him about the success or failure of their quest. Colwyn was the most humane noble that Torquil had ever met, and it pleased him to be in service to such a wise young king; compassionate rulers were few and far between. His brief time spent with Bellan's Council of Lords had convinced him of that, if there had been any danger of him forgetting what life had been like before Colwyn.

Memories of Bellan made Torquil think of the lady Isthmene, and he told Colwyn that it was perhaps best for them to discuss the outcome of their quest earlier rather than later. Colwyn accepted the wisdom of his Lord-Marshall's words (another rare trait in a ruler, and another trait for which Torquil was thankful) and nodded.

Titch and Oswyn dismounted, as well, and Colwyn greeted them both as warmly as he had greeted Torquil. Both boys were careful to be a little formal with the King, as there were other servants about, but the relief and happiness at the affection with which they were welcomed were obvious on both their faces.

"You have traveled well, I see," Colwyn said, smiling amiably. He called over to one of Ibren's stable hands, to take care of their horses, when Oswyn stopped him.

"I would like to look after them myself, if that's all right," the outrider murmured.

Colwyn looked puzzled for a moment, but then he nodded again. "Of course." He extended a hand to Titch, and the now-transformed Ergo. "Are you two coming with us?"

Ergo ushered Titch forward, and he cast Oswyn a departing wave. "Right behind you."

Torquil nodded to Oswyn. "Join us as soon as you can," he said, and then followed Colwyn, Ergo, and Titch into the castle. They walked the familiar hallways to the council chamber, where the Queen was waiting for them.

Lyssa rose to greet them, a timely endeavor given her physical condition. She apologized to both Titch and Torquil, who waved away her regret.

Torquil bowed deeply to Lyssa. "Do not apologize for so wonderful a thing," he said with what he hoped was gallantry.

She smiled at him, gave a brief chuckle, and sat down again.

Torquil took his appointed seat beside her, after he saw that Colwyn had done the same.

"You bring news?" Lyssa asked. Ever the diplomat, she was careful not to assume success or failure.

Torquil nodded to her. "Aye. We have brought the Stone of Behal'Ahn." He inclined his head toward the door. "Oswyn has it at the moment, although there is some story to it."

Titch leaned forward now, and began the tale of their meeting with the Lady Isthmene and her relinquishing of the city's artifact. He also described how the stone had been dead to them, but how it had reacted to Nirien.

"Nirien?" Colwyn echoed the name with a curious, furrowed brow.

Torquil faltered. He had almost forgotten the circumstances that had led him back to his children, and the part that they had played in his quest. "My daughter," he said, after taking a moment to collect himself and his wits. He explained how the travelers had met up with first Lona and Kela, and then Torquil's own children.

At the conclusion of this tangent, Lyssa shared an interested if amused glance with Colwyn. "I see. And where is this Nirien now?"

Torquil smiled. "She and her brothers remain at their mother's home, near Erameth. With your leave, I would like to make them the offer of sanctuary and residence here, with their father ñ with me."

Lyssa laid her hand on Torquil's, a strange but touching act of familiarity and intimacy. "Of course."

Colwyn smiled back at the Lord-Marshall. "We both understand how important it is for a family to be together." And here he gripped the Queen's hand meaningfully.

Torquil thanked them, and he noticed Titch grinning at him from across the table. Even Ergo, for whom this was fresh news, nodded in agreement.

They talked about the stone some more, as well as about Torquil's children, and Lona and her daughter, until Torquil was ready to go looking for Oswyn. But at that moment, the outrider entered the council room, carrying the heavy-bonded box that housed the mysterious Stone of Behal'Ahn.

"This is it?" Ergo asked, looking over Colwyn's shoulder as well as he was able when the artifact was presented to them. He didn't sound particularly impressed, although in truth the stone was not very striking while in its hibernating state.

Colwyn regarded the artifact with thoughtful deliberation. "If what you say is true," he murmured to Titch, who had told them his theory about the stone reacting only to women, "then it should do nothing for me."

"I suppose," Titch told him. "Although, you have greater experience with ancient magicks than any of us do."

Colwyn shrugged, swallowed, and reached out to touch the stone. "We shall see."

Torquil noticed suddenly that everyone around the table (with the possible exception of Lyssa, who was never much fazed by anything) was holding their breath. He expected that the stone would come to life for the King much as the ancient Glaive had, that Colwyn could tame this ancient relic much as he had tamed the legendary Fire Mares.

But there was nothing.

"Perhaps I do not have the gift that the stone expects to receive," Colwyn said, only slightly disappointed that he evoked no reaction in the stone.

Lyssa scooted forward a bit in her seat. "Perhaps Titch is correct, that it is a woman's touch that the stone seeks." She reached out with her own hand.

Colwyn stopped her outstretched arm and turned to her with a concerned look. "Lyssa, is this wise? We have no idea what it will do."

She fixed him with an even stare. "Colwyn, would you have the sacrifice of these men be for naught? We entrusted them with a quest, and they performed it in our name, on our behalf. A mother left her home for it. A daughter found her father because of it. And a lover offered it to us because she wanted to honor the memory of a beloved. I want to learn if the journey was worth the prize. Don't you?"

Torquil saw a feeling unspoken pass between Queen and King, woman and man. It may have been only simple comprehension or insight, but he had a suspicion that it was more significant to the moment. He had seen that look pass between Oswyn and his daughter, as well ñ it had given them their resolve to part, at last ñ and now that he studied Colwyn's face, he could recognize it as having been on Kegan's face more than once when he spoke with a wife; on Darro's face when he spoke of his beloved Lady Isthmene... and on his own face, reflected back at him in the depths of Mirane's eyes.

The feeling that passed between Lyssa and Colwyn was love: that wise, cruel, beautiful, incongruous sensitivity that drove men and women alike to courage and fear, victory and collapse.

The King nodded to her, and the Queen reached out her hand to touch the stone.

Lyssa's fingers caressed one side of the relic as they might the cheek of a child. Her touch was feather-light, but even with such gentility, the stone flared, nearly double the intensity that any of the men had previously seen. She smiled at it, lovingly, as if it spoke to her. Then, quite suddenly, she grimaced, yanked her hand away as if it had been burned, and doubled over.

"Lyssa!" Colwyn was by her side in a flash, supporting her at her shoulders. On her opposite side, Torquil stood quickly and mirrored Colwyn's posture. Around the room, everyone else moved to help, though were not quite as swift as the King and the Lord-Marshall.

Lyssa breathed heavily, one hand clutching her belly. Then she shook her head. "I'm fine," she said. She looked up, eyes focused on the relic. "What a strange and wondrous gift this is."

"What happened?" Colwyn asked her.

"She felt it, too," Lyssa whispered.

"Who?" Colwyn asked again.

She turned to the King, a sublime smile on her face. She almost laughed. "Our daughter."

* * *

Spring brought a celebration of birth. Emissaries and dignitaries from all across Krull came to the White Castle to extend their congratulations and bring their contributions to the infant Princess Thuria, and her parents King Colwyn and Queen Lyssa. The day chosen for the coronation was sunny and clear, a good omen for the little princess.

Standing in the Great Hall, where the coronation celebration was held, Torquil passed his gaze over the room.

Colwyn and Lyssa were standing on the royal dais, behind the ornate cradle that protected the sleeping princess. They made proud, just, and loving parents. There would be more children some day (two boys, actually, one whom, with his sister, would seek out and restore all of the lost treasures of Krull, including the fearsome Dragonguard and the otherworldly portals of the Ubigaya; and one of whom would in his lifetime become the greatest ruler ever known by Krull), but for now their love was reserved solely for the little girl they held in their arms.

Torquil was appointed a special guardian to the tiny princess, a job in addition to his duties as Lord-Marshall that he accepted with gusto. He viewed his responsibilities to the little girl as a kind of penance for his previous shortcomings as a father; he vowed to rectify, as much to himself as to anyone else, his failings with his own children.

Lona, dressed in the simple pale livery of a royal nanny, smiled to him from across the platform. She was not a queen like Lyssa, nor was she quite the powerful matriarch that Mirane had been, but he found that he cared for her just the same, perhaps even because of her humble standing. She turned her head, distracted by the caroling laughter of children.

Kela, Ysen, and Titch ran through the tables and guests, playing some game of tag. Jonnad managed to pull his brother up short, and the two boys stood more at attention in the side of the room.

Jonnad glanced his father's way and bowed his head. He had taken an apprentice position with Ibren at the royal stables, although Torquil knew that life in the castle did not make Jonnad happy. Once his apprenticeship was fulfilled, Jonnad would likely return to his mother's land, perhaps to create a thriving breeding business of his own. For now, though, he was here, performing double duty as Ibren's apprentice and Ysen's watchdog.

Ysen had been offered an apprenticeship from Ibren, as well, though he had refused. The boy was taking his time discovering what appealed to him most, though it was becoming increasingly obvious that he had a mind for things administrative, a skill that Ergo seemed to be trying to pass on to a novice so that the magician could better concentrate on his own magic skills. Ysen was still young, yet; the way that he looked after Titch and Kela was evidence of that.

The two youngest children in the room (with the exception of little Princes Thuria, of course) had formed a closer bond here at the White Castle even than they had done before. Titch had taken to teaching Kela reading and writing, and even little snippets of magic taught him by his Master. Ergo, too, had started teaching the pair the arcane skills of his native Hill People. There had been little success so far, but they both showed promise.

Watching Titch and Kela now, laughing together as they darted between columns, Torquil thought that they were made quite well for each other. Had he been able to see the future, it would not have surprised Torquil to learn that, in later life, Titch would become a Seer in his own right, with Kela at his side as both partner and wife. For now, though, the pair of children were happy simply to be causing mischief.

Titch and Kela ran through another set of columns, where Oswyn and Nirien were standing together, the both of them in the smart, dark leather livery of outriders.

Torquil sighed a little. His hopes for his daughter's happiness had not included an indiscreet affair with his guard, but Oswyn seemed to make her happy. And Nirien made Oswyn happy, as well. The infrequent nights that they were both at the castle they usually spent together, but given the easy geniality that he saw from them now, Torquil guessed (correctly, as fate would have it) that Oswyn and Nirien would always be better friends than lovers... although that did not prevent them from being lovers on frequent occasion.

Nirien looked across the room and caught Torquil's eye. She paused in whatever she was saying and took a moment to smile at him, a smile that was different from the one she reserved for her brothers, or for her friend and lover, or for an acquaintance in the hall. This love was for him alone, and it made Torquil nearly burst.

The Lord-Marshall sighed again, contentedly this time. He took a deep breath, puffing his chest. Beside him, Ergo leaned over to mutter:

"What things we do for children, eh?"

He had presumably been speaking of this gala, but Torquil could only think of his own children, those products of his love and affection, as well as the surrogate children that he watched around the room.

Torquil nodded to Ergo. "I doubt I would want my life any other way."

-End-


End file.
